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POEMS 



POEMS. 



BY MARY ANN 



/ 

H<r DODD 



Oh, not in the outward world alone, 

May THE BEAUTIFUL be to the soul made known ; 

In its own far depths, in its inner life, 

Silent and pure is its spirit rife— E. H. Chapin. 



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HARTFORD: 

CASE, TIFFANY AND BURNHAM 
1844. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, 

BY MARY ANN H. DODD, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecticut. 



Printed by 
CASE, TIFFANY & CO, 

Fearl st. corner of Trumbull. 



PREFACE 



In- presenting a new volume to the public, a few words are deem- 
ed necessary, by way of introduction, in order to deprecate the dis- 
like and win the good will of the world for the fresh claimant upon 
its favor ; and the author . of these pages would not by any means be 
guilty of discourtesy towards the gentle reader whose indulgent eye 
may linger upon the lines she has penned. 

It is not without much diffidence, and many misgivings, that this 
book is sent forth among the multitude which are daily appearing 
from the press, but it comes with that often offered excuse for the 
indiscretion of publishing poetry — the advice of friends ; and one, at 
least, of those friends, has conquered every objection, and given all 
encouragement to the undertaking, being ever ready with kind coun- 
sel and efficient aid ; and the obligations which the writer feels for 
the manifestation of such generous interest, are acknowledged here, 
and recorded in a grateful heart. 

The author of these poems can truly say that they were written 
with no aspirations after fame, and no hope of emolument ; but rather 
to beguile hours of loneliness and leisure, or to relieve a heart at 
seasons when it was full of sadness ; and they are now collected 
together in book form, with little expectation of finding favor in the 
literary world : but though they cannot look for much praise except 
from the partiality of friends and acquaintance, it is hoped there 
will be nothing found in them deserving the censure of the wise and 
good, or obnoxious to very severe criticism. 

Hartford, March 1st, 1844. 



CONTENTS 



Page. 

• Burns, ------- 13 

The Broken Hearted, - - - - - 17 

To Frances, .--.-- 21 

The Wife's Farewell, - - - - - 24 

Passing Time, ------ 25 

The Days of Chivalry, - - - - - 28 

Fill high the Cup, 31 

0, trust not in the things of Earth, - - - - 33 

Spring, - - - - - - - 35 

The Cloud, 38 

On the death of a Child, - - - - 39 

Magnum est Veritas, - - - - - 41 

To a young Friend, ----- 43 

The Messiah's Advent, - - - - - 45 

The Wine Cup, ... - - 47 

A Prayer, - - - - - - - 50 

I think not of Thee, . - - . . 51 

Charity, - - - - - - - 53 

Death and the Mother, ----- 56 

I would not grow old, - - - - - 59 

Twilight, ------ 61 

Thy will be done, - - - - - - 64 

Song of the Sailor's Bride, - - - - 65 

Rebecca's interview with Rowena, - - - - 67 

Song, ------- 70 

The Warning, - - - - - - 72 

Song, ------- 74 

To a Cricket, - - . . - 76 

Hymn at Sea, ------ 79 

June, - - - - - - -81 

To the memory of a Friend, - - . - 83 



Xll 



CONTENTS. 



To Willie, - 

Forgiveness, 

Surely to thee, my Rose, 

The Duelist, 

Dedication Hymn, 

Hymn, - . - 

The Portrait and the Flowers, 

The Crown of Thorns, - 

Prayer of the Penitent, 

The Morning Star, 

Dedication of a Church, 

Why weepest Thou ? 

The Good Man's burial. 

Are we slumbering now ? 

The Stranger's Grave, 

The Minstrel's Prize, 

Death, 

The Dreamer, 

Brighter Years, 

Evening Prayer, - 

To a Mourner, 

Pool of Bethesda, 

The Parents' Lament, 

Moonlight, 

" Homeward bound," 

Crowning with Roses, 

One Departed, 

Morning, 

Day-Dreaming, 

The faded Flower, 

One I loved is in the grave, 

Song, 

Phantoms, 

Autumn, 

The Magician, 

In life's young morn, 

To Calista, - 



Page. 

85 

89 

90 

92 

94 

96 

98 

102 

102 

104 

106 

108 

111 

113 

116 

119 

132 

134 

137 

140 

141 

144 

■ 147 
149 

■ 154 
158 
159 
161 
163 
166 

. 168 
170 

■ 171 
173 

. 177 

180 

. 182 



P E 1 S 



BURNS. 

"Rosseau, we all know, when dying, wished to be carried into the open air, 
that he might obtain a parting look of tlie glorious orb of day. A few nights 
before his death, Burns drank tea with Mrs. Craig, widow of the minister of 
Ruthwell, His altered appearance excited much silent sympathy ; and the 
evening being beautiful, and the sun shining brightly through the casement, Miss 
Craig was afraid the light might be too much for him, and rose with the view of 
letting down the window-blinds. Burns immediately guessed what she meant ; 
and regarding the young lady with a look of great benignity, said, ' thank you, 
my dear, for your kind attention ; but, O, let him shine ; he will not shine long 
for me.' "—Lockharfs Life of Burns. 

O, SHUT not out the blessed light, 

Though weak and dim these eyes of mine, 

'Twill cheer my very heart to-night, 
To watch that golden orb's decline : 

Then let me still the sunlight see, 

Which is not long to shine for me. 



As fade those briliant rays, too soon. 
So steal my sands of life away ; 

Life, it has been a weary boon. 
Why do I wish its longer stay } 

Should not my soaring spirit sigh, 

To throw its earthly garments by } 



14 BURNS. 

'Tis sad to see the eyes we lov^e, 

Overflow with tears which cannot save ; 

To leave the blessed sun above, 
For the pale twilight of the grave ; 

And dark will be the hour, I ween, 

Which parts me from my " darling Jean." 

Though dewy morn, and golden noon, 
Shall make the scenes I love look gay ; 

By Yarrow's banks, and " bonnie Doon," 
My blithesome steps no longer stray. 

The breeze will curl the silver Dee, 

Whose o-lancino; waves I may not see. 

No more I muse the hours away, 
By wimpling burn, or heather Avide, 

Or hasten back at gloamin' gray, 
To dear ones by the ingle side. 

The linnet on the hawthorne bough. 

From sadness cannot charm me now. 

Though wild and wayward my career, 
By sorrow marked, b}^ sin defiled. 

My Father, thou wilt deign to hear 
The prayers of thy repentant child. 

In folly's path I wandered free, 

But still my heart remembered thee. 



BURNS. 15 

With dear and ever new delight, 

I gazed on all thy hand hath made ; 
The roaring linn, the rocky height, 

The burn that winds through sun and shade. 
I plucked the flowers along my road, 
And looked through nature up to God. 

I loved the laverock's lay at morn, 

The mavis' song at eventide. 
The blossom of the hoary thorn. 

The daisy on the mountain side. 
The purple heather's tiny bell. 
The foxglove in the silent dell. 

A May-day morn, or breezy noon. 

Could charm my thoughts from care away ; 

I mused beneath the skies of June, 
And sighed o'er autumn's slow decay ; 

And nature sometimes gave me leave. 

Their beauty in my strains to weave. 

As well might clouds refuse to fly 

Which zephyrs on their pinions bear. 

Or the yEolian harp deny 

Its music to the streaming air, 

As the poor poet e'er refuse 

A tribute to his gentle muse. 



16 BURNS. 

I wove among our lonely hills 
Lays for the peasant in his cot, 

Of his own bright and dancing rills, 
And many a dear familiar spot : 

He sings them while at early day. 

His ploughshare turns the turf away. 

I could not bend the knee to pride, 

Whose favors may be bought and sold. 

Or turn from honor's path aside, 
To " coin my mind" for paltry gold. 

My thoughts were free for ail to share, 

As my own Scotland's mountain air. 

But fortune smiled not on the bard 
Who ever held her favors light ; 

His way was rough, his lot was hard, 
His noonday early changed to night ; 

And now he mourns o'er wasted powers, 

O'er blighted hopes, and vanished hours. 

Life's weary voyage is nearly o'er. 
Its strife, its passion, and its care. 

And soon my bark will reach the shore. 
Whose peaceful rest I sigh to share ; 

Then let me still the sunlight see. 

Which is not long to shine for me. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 

I WOULD not stay forever here, 

In this sad world of care and pain ; 
I would not have life linger on, 

Or give my thoughts to earth again ; 
I long to close my tearful eyes, 

And rest my weary, aching head 
Upon the couch where all is peace 

And stillness, with the early dead. 

I do not fear to look on death, 

From whose approach no power can save ; 
No serpent-sting is in his grasp. 

Nor disappointmentrin the grave. 
How sweet to sleep on some green bank, 

Where summer breezes gently blow ; 
The pure and glad blue sky above, 

The silver-singing wave below, 

I w^ould not have my humble name 
In costly marble sculptured deep ; 

No darkening yew should spread its gloom. 
Nor o'er my head the willow weep : 
2* 



18 THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 

But insect hum, and voice of bird 
Should float upon the bahny air ; 

The happy would not turn away 

While cheerful sights and sounds were there. 



And if some gentle step should come 

With blossoms in the morning hours, 
0, welcome would the offering be, 

For I have dearly loved the flowers ! 
Perchance my spirit, freed from pain. 

Might linger round the verdant tomb, 
To bless the loving hand that gave, 

And borrow pleasure from their bloom. 



To-morrow, and the setting sun 

Its shadows round my rest will cast ; 
I shall not watch the fading light. 

On tree and flower I look my last ; 
And on those orbs of purest gold. 

So thickly strewn in yonder sky, 
With the fair goddess of the night 

Walking in loveliness on high. 

Long have those bright, mysterious stars 
Their silent watoh o'er sorrow kept, 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 19 

And the pale moon looked calmly down, 

As if she saw no eyes that wept ; 
There tracing still her radiant path, 

Far out upon the spotless blue, 
Why may not love thus steady burn ? 

Why cannot friends be always true ? 



Still will they shine, when I am gone, 

As they have ever shone before ; 
And weary eyes will meet their beams, 

When I shall wake to weep no more. 
O, beautiful upon the grave, 

The starlight and the moonbeams lie ! 
With such sweet watchers o'er our sleep, 

Why should we ever fear to die ? 



A weight is on my closing lids, 

The dews are gathering on my brow. 
And, with the shade of vanished years. 

Fond memory holds communion now ; 
Inwove with many a darkening thread 

The texture of my life appears ; 
How vain were all its sweetest hopes, 

How more than bitter were its tears ! 



20 THE BROKEN-HEARTED 

I strive to imitate His love, 

Which every cruel wrong forgave, 
Till o'er my tried and suffering soul 

Peace, like a river, rolls its wave. 
O ! surely, in that better land, 

No vulture shall the dove molest. 
Or worm devour the rose's heart, 

Take me, my Father, to its rest ! 



TO FRANCES. 

Dear cousin, sing the song I loved of yore, 

When my light heart was happy all the while ; 

When on my cheek, where roses bloom no more. 
The tear was far less frequent than the smile ; 

Sweet thoughts are linked with every thrilling strain, 

Sing to me, cousin, sing it once again. 



Dearest, how often, in the days gone by, 

For me that touching lay thy lips have sung. 

When on bright wings we saw the moments fly. 
For we were both light-hearted, gay, and young: 

There was no cloud upon our summer skies ; 

There was no shadow in our joyous eyes. 



We were like sisters, for the circling hours 
Seemed to unite us with as strong a tie, 

As though our infant steps among the Jflowers, 

Had erst been watched by the same mother's eye ; 

We tracked the wild bird and the wandering bee. 

And well we loved all sounds of melody. 



9.0 



TO FRANCES. 

Thy voice was like the breathing of a flute, 
Heard at still evening o'er the moonlit sea ; 

My heart sang with the, but my lips were mute, 
I did not share the gift bestowed on thee. 

Strong is the spell by music round me thrown. 

But never could my voice awake its tone. 

0, there are strains which thrill the feeling heart, 
With sadly sweet remembrance of the past ; 

With joys that all too soon we saw depart, 

And hopes which brightened to deceive at last : 

They smile once more, as o'er life's mazy track. 

The song-woke spirit swiftly wanders back. 

Soon we were parted, and the years passed on ; 

The tireless steps of time we cannot stay ; 
But weary seemed the hours while thou wert gone 

To find another home so far away : 
I longed to fold thee to my heart the while, 
To hear thy voice again and see thee smile. 

Then thou wert ill, and yet I was not near 

To bathe thy brow and hold thine aching head. 

To seek with pleasant words thy heart to cheer. 
And keep love's patient watch beside thy bed. 

While far I waited Mnth a heart of care. 

Thy name was breathed in many a fervent prayer. 



TOFRANCES. 23 

But health returns, and on the wings of love 

Again thou comestto thine early home, 
The truth of childhood's memories to prove, 

And through its old familiar scenes to roam. 
Dear eyes beam on thee with affection's light. 
Fond lips with thine in many a kiss unite. 

We stand where autumn leaves are thickly strewn. 
And see the beauty of the year depart ; 

Thus has the brightness of our young days flown. 

And " hours that were" come thronging to the heart ; 

Like the aroma of the dying flowers. 

Sweet is the memory of those vanished hours. 

Frances, thou art not here ! I did but dream 
I heard the numbers of my favorite song ; 

But O, so pleasant did the vision seem, 

I would that fancy might the spell prolong. 

Lonely and sad I muse, thou art not near, 

The music of thy voice I may not hear. 

Now must I say fareioell ! that mournful word ; 

A word I cannot breathe without regret ; 
But silent is my lyre, its strings were stirred 

To say that thy dear love I cherish yet ; 
And O, may Heaven its choicest favors send. 
To bless thy lot, my cousin and my friend. 



THE WIFE'S FAREWELL. 

Shadows dim are gathering o'er me, 

And the light is fading fast ; 
Darksome is the vale before me, 

And its bounds will soon be past. 
Sadly will my death bereave thee. 

Thou wilt weep when I am gone ; 
Best beloved, can I leave thee ? 

Leave thee in the world alone ! 



In thy hand my own retaining. 

Thou dost fondly o'er me bend. 
Faithful to thy love remaining. 

Kind and faithful till the end. 
Thou wilt miss my voice of gladness, 

Never more to sound on earth. 
And thy heart will fill with sadness. 

By thy lone deserted hearth. 



Lift thy hopes to Heaven above thee. 

Think that there in bliss I roam, 
I would live, and live to love thee. 

But my Father calls me home. 
When the bonds of earth are riven. 

And the reign of death is o'er. 
In the light and joy of Heaven, 

We shall meet to part no more. 



PASSING TIME. 

Time, hurries swiftly on, 
Each fleeting year seems shorter than the last, 
And many hopes which cheered its opening dawn, 

Are buried with the past. 

How various and how bright 
The future views which cheating fancy gave ; 
Time touched the picture with a changing blight, 

From which no power can save. 



'Tis but a little while. 
Since summer with her lovely light was here ; 
All things looked gay which her refulgent smile 

Shone on to bless and cheer. 



How passing fair the flowers. 
That all around 'neath her light step sprang up ; 
How soft the night-dew and the silver showers, 

Which filled each opened cup. 



26 PASSINGTIME. 

But now 't is autumn-time ; 
Dark leaden clouds come o'er the sunny sky. 
And summer birds to seek a softer clime, 

From the wild tempest fly. 



O, solemn are the hours ! 
The winds are wailing o'er the withered leaf, 
They tune their harps, and to the faded flowers 

Sing a sad song of grief. 

Where are the kind and true ? 
Who watched together nature's changing moods, 
The lightning's fiery flash, the sunset's hue. 

Or fading of the woods ; 

Who loved, each long bright day. 
And when the moonlit eve did stillness bring, 
To read the thrilling tale and poet's lay, 

Or songs of Zion sing. 

Vainly I look around 
For those whose words were music to my heart ; 
Time his attaching ties had closely bound, 

Then coldly bade us part. 



PASSINGTIME. 27 

The steps no more are nigh, 
Which lingered with my own by mount and wave ; 
Swift flew the happy hours uncounted by, 

That such bright moments gave. 



O, deeply are those hours 
Enshrined in memory till life shall cease. 
When time the moments told by strewing flowers 

Round our abode of peace. 

Each night returns the star. 
And spring shall call the bud on vale and plain, 
And friends who now by- fate are severed far. 

May often meet again. 

But if no more on earth, 
Those kindred hearts can hold communion sweet ; 
If some loved face, and form, and voice of mirth. 

Death's cold embrace shall greet ; 

Lift we the trusting eye, 
To a sure meeting on that better shore. 
Where clouds come not, and roses never die. 

And time shall reign no more. 



THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. 

Alas ! the days of chivalry are gone, 
Of wild "adventure and of thrilling story, 

When father Time his glittering wings put on. 
And knights and ladies lived for love and glory. 

Then the fair damsel graced the festal board. 
By brave and courtly cavaliers surrounded ; 

With tale and song the sparkling wine was poured, 
And the wide castle-hall to mirth resounded. 



Would I had lived in those old times, ah me ! 

When life was all romance and lovers plenty ; 
For every dame of lengthy pedigree. 

Could number in her train no less than twenty. 

Not such cold hearted ones as we have now. 
Whose smiles, to say the least, are rather shady , 

Who think the passing notice of a bow. 
Sufficient homage to be paid a lady. 

Nor like the beau, who reckless of the duds, 
All rules of etiquette and deference scorning. 



THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. 29 

Seeks to surprise his mistress " in the suds," 
And pops right in upon a Monday morning. 

Give me the valiant knight, who breaks a lance 
With every cavalier my beauty doubting, 

And thinks himself repaid with one bright glance, 
For the light toil of a whole dozen routing. 

Who, in his calender, but marks the hour 

Which brings him to my feet with homage lowly. 

And if I chance to drop a faded flower, 
Among his relics treasures it as holy. 

See, in the bannered hall, on dais high, 

The queen of hearts all other maids excelling. 

While her fair damsel-train are clustering nigh. 
And at her feet his tale the minstrel tellinof : 



How, on some deed of high emprise, departs 

A knight, " without reproach," Orlando fearless, 

Who humbly worships in his heart of hearts. 
Some lilly of the vale, or rose the peerless. 



Or how he seeks a castle old and gray. 

When careless sentinels are idly dreaming, 
3* 



30 D A Y S F C II I V A L R Y . 

And a lone taper sheds its steady ray, 

Love's beacon fire from the high turret gleaming. 

A ladder light will soon the lady find, 

Who on his honor places firm reliance, 
And their fleet steeds leave danger far behind, 

Bidding to warder and to watch defiance. 

But now we have a tale so tame and true. 

Of some plain couple, that our pen may honor, 

Who for a year, or more, will worry through 
A humdrum courtship in the chimney corner. 

Where knight and dame rode o'er the velvet green. 
With flowers and streams along their pathway lying, 

A host of hurrying bipeds now are seen, 
In rail-road cars like evil spirits flying. 

No more may wandering minstrel prove to be 

vSome gallant prince with love and valor burning ; 

Or constant maid her own heart's idol see 
In paladin from Holy Land returning. 

For ah, the days of chivalry are o'er. 
Of wild adventure and romantic story. 

When father Time his jeweled pinions wore. 
And knights and ladies lived for love and glory. 



FILL HIGH THE CUP. 

Fill high the cup, the cup with roses crowned ! 
And bid the mantling wine flow freely round ; 
Let wit and mirth the flying moments share, 
And the red nectar banish every care ! 

Drink of the gods ! ambrosial dew ! I sip 
Thy honeyed sweetness with a longing lip ; 
Thou art mine only comforter, to thee 
I fly from thought, from thought and memory. 

But see, a shadow comes upon the glass ; 
Like broken promises the bubbles pass ; 
The glow and freshness of the hour depart, 
And the wine leaves me with a heavy heart. 

Bring me my hoarded wealth, a precious store, 
And let me count the glittering treasure o'er, 
For which I toiled through many a weary day, 
And wore the brightness of my years away. 

A mist is stealing o'er the diamond's light, 
The yellow gold grows leaden to my sight, 



32 



FILL HIGH THE CUP.g 



The sapphire's lustre and the ruby's blaze, 
No more afford me pleasure as I gaze. 

My thoughts are troubled and my cheek grows pale ; 
I hear the widow's sigh the orphan's wail : 
Ill-gotten wealth! how worse than vain art thou, 
To smooth one furrow on the care-worn brow. 

Where are my troops of friends whose ready wiles 
Could teach my lip to wear unwonted smiles ? 
The fawning followers, and the gazing crowd, 
Who hailed my coming with their plaudits loud ? 

Alas ! those faithless friends my presence shun, 
Their once full ranks are thinning one by one ; 
I pass unheeded through the silent streets. 
No more mine ear the flatterer's music greets- 

My day is o'er, my race is nearly run ; 

Some other idol has their homage won : 

O, Fame and Friendship ! brief must be your reign, 

With those whose deeds your sunbright garments stain. 

Let the seared heart its vain complainings cease. 
The virtuous only can be blessed with peace ; 
Then take my friends, my fortune, and my fame, 
And give me back my sinless days again. 



O, TRUST NOT IN THE THINGS OF EARTH. 

O, TRUST not in the things of earth, 

Though bright their smile appears ; 
The glance of joy, the tones of mirth. 

Are followed soon by tears. 
Here is no rock on which to stay. 

No lasting pleasure given. 
Then throw the "broken reed'' away. 

And put thy trust in Heaven. 



Though hope around thy path may stay, 

Her sunny dreams to weave. 
She only makes the future gay. 

And flatters to deceive. 
Her changing form, and cheating light. 

To cheer our way are given ; 
But follow not the phantom bright, 

Anchor thy hope on Heaven. 

And love is but a meteor gleam, 

Which dazzles for a while. 
Like sunshine on the flowing stream, 

Or summer's fleeting smile. 



34 OjTRUSTNOT, &C. 

The fondest friends grow changed and cold, 
And strongest ties are riven ; 

The heart's desires earth cannot hold, 
Then give thy love to Heaven. 



To fading joys why clingest thou, 

With faith so fond and deep ? 
O'er promise false, and broken vow. 

Soon wilt thou vainly weep. 
When thy deceived and wounded heart, 

With silent grief is riven. 
Like Mary choose the " better part," 

And fix thy faith on Heaven. 



SPRING. 

Daughter of light ! thy fairy step 
Steals softly over vale and plain, 

And with thy bright and joyous smile, 
Beauty and life awake again. 

The snow-wreaths, that so long had crowned, 
Have melted from the purple hills ; 

And icy chains, which bound them fast, 
Are loosened from the leaping rills. 

O'er all the earth, where late was spread 
A virgin robe of stainless white, 

The fresh, young grass is springing up, 
So welcome to our longing sight. 



The trees that stood through winter storms 
All bare like monuments of grief. 

Show on their life-like branches now, ' 
The swelling bud and bursting leaf. 



36 SPRING. 

The cold and bitter winds which swept 
So wild and often through the vales, 

Have softened down their raging wrath 
To mild and balmy-breathing gales. 



Some happy birds make glad the morn, 

Waking beneath its rosy skies ; 
Some early flowers the fields adorn, 

Which cheer our hearts and bless our eyes. 



The blue-bell's tiny cup expands, 
The snow-drop spreads its petals fair. 

The iris shows the blue of heaven. 
And violets breathe upon the air. 



Sweet season, to the dreary earth, 
Thus thy return will ever bring 

Gladness and beauty, smiles and mirth. 
Such is thy mission blessed spring ! 

Yes, bright as in the days gone by. 
Thy cheering presence still appears ; 

But can / hail thy coming now. 
With all the joy of other years ? 



SPRING. 37 

Wilt thou give back those golden dreams, 
Which made life's vernal hours so gay ? 

Wilt thou restore the blissful hopes, 

That bloomed along youth's flow^ery way ? 



Ah, no, but though thou canst not bring 
The spirit's freshness back again ; 

Yet even to the weary heart, 
Thy mission is not wholly vain. 

Wake then my soul ! nor longer droop. 
But far aside all sadness fling ; 

Wake to the whisperings of hope ! 
Wake to the influence of Spring ! 



THE CLOUD. 

Over the summer heaven a cloud is sailing, 

Swelling and spreading as it travels on, 
With its thick shade the radiant sunbeams veiling. 

Which late so brightly o'er the landscape shone. 
But see ! it breaks ! the soft blue sky is gleaming 

Between its folds which vanish fast away ; 
And now the sunlight over all is streaming, 

Making the darkened earth again look gay. 

So on my heart a shadow dim descending, 

Fills it with gloom and sadness like the night ; 
Vainly for me are joy and music blending. 

Vainly the fair earth wears her garments bright. 
Father, I strive this weary weight to banish ; 

Send me sweet peace to take the place of pain ; 
When will the dark cloud from my pathway vanish .'' 

When will the sun of hope shine forth again .'' 



ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 

When the dark shades of night had passed away, 
And morning robed the earth in colors bright, 

Close to a rose's fragrant heart there lay, 
A dew-drop glittering in the early light. 

Lovely the flower upon its pensile stem, 
Waving so softly in the summer air, 

And beautiful the round, pellucid gem. 
As a crown-jewel on a forehead fair. 



But, while I looked, the fast advancing sun. 
Poured round the rose a flood of golden light. 

With fervent eye its beauty gazed upon. 

Then kissed the dew and bore it from my sight. 



The lonely rose for its heart-treasure mourned. 
And low it drooped beneath the sultry noon ; 

Then from its silent grief aside I turned. 
And sighed that things so fair should fade so soon. 



40 ONTHEDEATHOFACHILD. 

There came a shower, a sweet refreshing shower, 
The liquid pearls with colored sunbeams met, 

And the meek eyes of that uplifted flower. 
Saw its own dew-drop in a rainbow set. 



Mother, thy child was like the morning dew : 
As pure, and fair, and with a life as brief; 

Closed are its eyes of evening's softest blue, 
Its cheek is paler than a damask leaf. 



And thou mayest weep, young mother, for thy child ; 

Thy loved, thine only one, so early lost ; 
Gone to her God with spirit undefiled, 

And heart by sin, or passion, never crossed. 



Weep, but not bitterly, and let thy grief 
By a firm faith be softened and subdued ; 

Turn unto Him who chastened for relief. 

And onward press with hope and strength renewed. 



Look upward to the clime beyond the skies. 
And the lost gem for which thy tears are given. 

Again shall greet thy sad and longing eyes. 
Re-set among the jewelry of heaven. 



MAGNUM EST VERITAS. 

Go forth, young herald of the holy cross, 
And fearless advocate thy Master's cause ; 

Counting as nothing every worldly loss. 
Seeking no honor but the heart's applause. 

Friends may look coldly on and foes assail. 

But truth is great and surely will prevail. 



Tell the glad message of a Father's love. 
To the despondent and the breaking heart. 

Till faith shall beam like sunlight from above. 
And every doubt before its rays depart : 

His staff shall aid thee through the narrow vale ; 

His truth is great and surely will prevail. 



Speak to the wretched, and the sons of pain. 
And spread the joyful tidings all around ; 

Welcome as shade upon a scorching plain. 
Or a glad fountain in the desert found : 

Our God is Love ! his kindness cannot fail. 

His truth is mighty and it will prevail. 
4* 



42 MAGNUM EST VERITAS. 

Thou canst not hope for wealth, or worldly fame ; 

But peace shall round thy brow her olive twine ; 
Thou wilt not hear the million shout thy name, 

But the warm heart's approval shall be thine. 
Oh, waver not ! nor let thy courage fail ! 
For truth is great and surely will prevail. 



Heaven bless thine efforts with a saving grace, 
And vanquish all which may thy way oppose ; 

Make glad the wilderness and dreary place. 
And cause the waste to blossom as the rose. 

Fear not, though danger should thy path assail. 

For truth is great and surely will prevail. 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

My pen is on the snow white page, 

And then thy form appears ; 
A vision of a gentle girl 

In her unshadowed years. 
No care has touched her blooming cheek, 

To bid the roses fly, 
And sorrow has not dimmed the light 

Within her joyous eye. 

Fond hopes around her sunny path 

Their rainbow colors fling, 
And fancy seeks for pictures bright 

Before her sight to bring. 
She thinks not how the coming years, 

Can bid her features wear 
A weary and a troubled look, 

Or leave a furrow there. 



Though time will bid the eye grow dull. 
And bloom the cheek forsake, 

Oh, may he never from the mind 
Its truth and pureness take. 



44 TOAYOUNGFRIEND. 

Those rainbow hopes shall pass away, 
And fancy's dreams depart ; 

But an unfading light remains, 
To bless the pure in heart. 



THE MESSIAH'S ADVENT. 

'T WAS night, and the stars in their beauty were shining, 

Over Bethlehem's plain, long ages ago, 
And shepherds, worn out with their watch, were reclining 

To rest their tired limbs on the verdure below ; 
When an angel descending in garments of light, 
Shed a halo around which illumined the night. 



" Fear not," said the seraph, " a glad message bringing, 
With peace, and good will, to your presence I come, 

From heaven's high courts, where the anthem is ringing 
Of glory to God for the gift of his Son. 

0, awake ! to his altar your offerings bring ; 

'T is the advent of Jesus, your Saviour and King." 



The stars in their brightness are still beaming o'er us, 
Though ages have passed like a tale that is told ; 

The year has come round, and the time is before us, 
Which thrills every heart with that story of old : 

Hark ! the song of the birth-night is echoed again, 

And the cross we behold where our Saviour was slain. 



46 THE Messiah's advent. 

He died for our sins. With the scorners around him, 
In silence and anguish he yielded his breath ; 

And when the cold grave in its stillness had bound him, 
He burst the dark bonds to redeem us from death ; 

And our song of rejoicing, dear Jesus, shall be. 

That from sin and the grave we are ransomed by thee ! 



Redeemer ! and Saviour ! green garlands are wreathing 
The place where we meet to remember thy love ; 

And O, may the incense of praise we are breathing, 
An offering pure, be accepted above ; 

And though swiftly the hour of thine advent departs, 

Still fresh may thy memory remain in our hearts. 



THE WINE CUP. 

"Look thou not upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his color 
in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. 
"At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." 

Proverbs. 

Oh, touch not thy lip to the ruby wine, 
Though its babbles bright in the goblet shine, 
And the light of pleasure may seem to swim. 
In the sparkles that rise to its crystal brim. 



Oh, let not thine eyes love its rosy smile ! 
There's a serpent-sting in its winning wile : 
Though to taste the tempter bright lips may part. 
It will surely lead to a broken heart. 

While the cup is wreathed where the wine is poured. 
And the loved are pledged round the festal board ; 
While with wit's light flashes and mirthful song, 
Time swifter flies from the festive throng ; 

Ye will deem that a cure for care is found, 

When the sparkling draught and the toast goes round. 

Ye will drain the bowl nor believe that sin, 

Like an adder coils its length within. 



48 THEWINECUP. 

But the jesting word and the merry song, 
Will be hushed as the morning hour steals on ; 
And the faltering step and the sunken eye, 
Shall follow the feaster's revelry. 



There is one who says " the wine maketh glad,' 
But his head is heavy, his soul is sad ; 
Awhile he watched the red poison's play. 
Then tasted the draught and was led astray. 



The pale wife weeps as his step draws nigh, 
And the child shrinks back from his altered eye ; 
But no signs of woe his heart can move, 
Though it answered once to the voice of love. 

O, changed from all that his Maker made. 
Is he who long at the revel stayed ; 
With helpless limbs and a brain on fire, 
He reaps the fruit of his wild desire. 

The friends he loved from his side have flown, 
With the happy hopes which his youth had known ; 
And he follows the path of sin and shame, 
With a branded, scorned and dishonored name. 



THEWINECUP. 49 



Then tarry not thou at the rosy wine, 
Though the light of joy in the goblet shine ; 
It will lure thee on to a wretched lot ; 
Oh, turn from the wine-cup and taste it not ! 



A PRAYER. 

O, Father ! make my bosom right within ; 
Cleanse thou my spirit from all stain of sin ; 
Bid every dark temptation far depart ; 
Grant me the blessing of " the pure in heart." 



I would still walk beneath thy watchful eye, 
With an abiding sense that thou art nigh, 
Noting my actions with a searching look, 
Reading my thoughts as from an unsealed book. 



If I have sought to wear a meek disguise. 
E'en while I turned to vanity mine eyes ; 
If calm my brow, while waves of passion roll 
Within the secret chambers of my soul ; 



Lord, at thy footstool bending low, I pray 
That thou wilt wash my guilty thoughts away ; 
Thine own restoring influence impart. 
And keep me now, and ever, pure m heart. 



I THINK NOT OF THEE. 

I THINK not of thee when the morning bright, 
Is flushing the sky with its rosy light ; 
But when the moon silvers the restless sea, 
And the waves are chiming their melody, 

Then do I think of thee. 

I think not of thee in the lighted hall, 

Where gladness is weaving a spell for all ; 

But when through my lattice night's star-eyes gleam, 

And love returns to its sorrowing dream, 

Then do I think of thee. 

I think not of thee while amid the crowd. 
When the wine flows free and the song is loud ; 
Thy memory comes with a gentle power, 
To subdue my soul at soft twilight's hour ; 

Then do I think of thee. 

When I meet the world with a heart of care. 
No thought of thy pure love is mingled there ; 
But when the farewell light of fading day. 
Is passing as passed thy spirit away. 

Then do I think of thee. 



52 I THINKNOT OFTHEE. 

I think not of thee when the summer fair 



Is twining gay wreaths in her golden hair ; 
But when faded leaves are falling around, 
And the wind goes by with a wailing sound, 
Then do I think of thee. 



CHARITY. 

"And now nbideth faitb, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of 
these ia charity." 

I SAW a pale young orphan boy- 
Go wandering sadly by, 

His feet were bare, his garments torn, 
And tears were in his eye. 

He gazed on every face that passed ; 
In none was pity shewn ; 

And then upon the cold damp ground, 
He sat and wept alone. 



The drifting snow came thick and fast, 

The wind was high and wild ; 
He found no shelter for his head, 

The poor, forsaken child. 
And all who had come forth that day, 

To brave the cheerless storm. 
Wrapped their warm garments closer round. 

And passed unheeding on. 



54 CHARITY. 

And there, amid the blinding sleet, 

He watched till sight grew dim ; 
He was too young to trust in heaven, 

Faith could not dwell with him ; 
And even hope, which comes to all. 

Now failed to bring relief ; 
Alas ! that childhood e'er should know 

Such deep and withering grief. 



Anon an angel form drew near, 

With a sweet, pitying eye. 
And soon she raised him from the ground, 

And soon his tears were dry. 
She folded him within her robe, 

To shield him from the storm. 
And took him to her cheerful home. 

To feed, and clothe, and warm. 



Yes, thou wilt soothe the suffering one, 

And bid his woes depart ; 
The orphan's prayers shall follow thee. 

Maid of the gentle heart. 
Faith leads us through life's trying scenes, 

Hope's smiles are sweet to see. 
But lovelier than these art thou, 

O, soft-eyed charity ! 



CHARITY. 55 

Daughter of heaven ! 'tis thine to cheer 

The hearts that hopeless grieve, 
To follow in the steps of want 

Its victims to relieve. 
Fain would we imitate thy love ; 

Fain would we walk with thee ; 
Come thou, and make our hearts thy home, 

O, blessed Charity ! 



DEATH AND THE MOTHER. 

I SAW a violet of the vale 

Blooming in autumn's smile ; 
The frosts were chill, the sun was pale, 

But fair it grew the while. 
There came a bitter, biting storm, 

xVnd wild winds sighed around ; 
I sought the violet's fragile form, 

'T was broken on the ground. 



A fair child blossomed like the flower, 

When autumn woods were gay. 
And grew in beauty every hour 

Time counted on his way. 
Sweet violet eyes and cheek of down, 

Dimples and roses there. 
Soft silky hair of jDalest brow^i. 

And skin like lillies fair- 



The mother, with a smile and tear, 

Gazed fondly on her son, 
And thought of all the flowerets here, 

Hers was the fairest one. 



DEATH AND THE MOTHER. 57 

He charmed her hours of pain away, 

And bade her cares depart, 
And every hour, and every day. 

Grew closer to her heart. 



But soon a sad, stern looking man. 

To the bright boy came nigh ; 
His breath was chill, his features wan. 

And glassy was his eye. 
The tender mother's fears were wild ; 

Her eye with tears grew dim ; 
" Kind Death, it is my gentle child. 

Oh, come not near to him ! 



" How can I those dear eyes behold. 

When all their light has flown ? 
Or feel his little hand grow cold. 

While clasped within my own ? 
Some wait for thee, whose weary years 

Know neither hope or joy ; 
They look towards the grave through tears. 

Take them, and spare my boy." 



Death pitied the poor mother's grief; 
Pity he sometimes knew ; 



58 DEATH AND THE MOTHER. 

And kindly sought to give relief, 
While nearer still he drew. 

" Thy child is very fair to see, 
And very dear to love, 

The best and fairest go with me. 
To brighter worlds above. 

" Though sadness now thy bosom fills, 

Why wouldst thou have him stay. 
To suffer all the thousand ills. 

That throng life's weary way ? 
Let Him who gave thy blossom birth. 

Beneath the autumn skies. 
Now take it from the frosts of earth, 

To bloom in Paradise." 



Her tears were dried, her hopes grew bright, 

As faith marked out the road, 
Where walked the Lamb, in garments white, 

Bearing her babe to God. 
She felt that it was hard to part 

From one so lately given, 
But with a firm and trusting heart. 

She yielded him to Heaven. 



I WOULD NOT GROW OLD. 

With a hurrying step Time is passing away ; 
He will touch my brown tresses and turn them to gray, 
And cross my high hopes with the coldness of truth ; 
Oh, give me to drink of the fountain of youth. 



I would not grow old, for with age comes a blight. 
Robbing earth of its beauty, the sky of its light ; 
Leaving nothing in life, while the journey shall last, 
But to sigh o'er the present and weep for the past. 

The time will be long when no joy marks the hours. 
And heavy the step where no longer are flowers ; 
The ear will grow dull without music or mirth. 
And the eye lose its light that looks only to earth. 



How toilsome the road, when all pleasure is gone 
With a world-weary step to keep traveling on. 
While the star that once cheered us is shrouded in gloom, 
And hastening to set in the night of the tomb. 



60 I WOULD NOT GROW OLD. 

Then if hope only dwells with the young and the glad, 
O, who would not fear to be aged and sad ? 
And who would not wish Time's flight to delay, 
If he carries our youth on his pinions away ? 



O, dreary and long is our journey below, 

With the path growing darker as onward we go ; 

But I doubt if at last the affections are cold, 

And the heart, O, the warm heart can never grow old ! 

For the ear dulled to earth sweeter sounds may be given, 
And the eye that is dim may see pictures of heaven ; 
While our hopes, bathed anew in the waters of love, 
Shall soar to the light and the glory above. 

Then Time, do thy worst, to thy sceptre I bow, 
O'er the deathless affections no power hast thou, 
And I covet no draught from the fountain of youth. 
If my heart may remain still unchanged in its truth. 



TWILIGHT. 

The sunset hues are fading fast, 
From the fair western sky away, 

And floating clouds which gathered round, 
Have vanished with their colors gay. 



All save one streak that lingers there. 
Retaining still a rosy hue. 

Bright at the verge, but pale above, 
Soft blending with celestial blue. 



So lovely were those brilliant clouds, 
Which floated in the evening air, 

I almost thought that angel forms. 

Such fabrics for their robes might wear, 

But like the dreams which fancy weaves, 
Their beauty quickly passed away, 

And where their gorgeous tints were seen, 
Soft twilight reigns with shadows gray. 

6 



62 TWILIGHT. 

One star, one bright and quiet star, 
Hangs out its steady light above, 

Over the hushed and resting earth 
Still watching like the eye of love. 



The birds that vroke such joyous strains, 
With folded pinions seek repose, 

All save the minstrel sad who sings. 
His plaintive love-lay to the rose. 



The weary bees have reached the hive 

Rejoicing over labor done. 
And blossoms close their fragrant cups. 

Which opened to the morning sun. 



The winds are hushed, that music made 
The leafy-laden boughs between. 

And scarce the lightest zephyr's breath 
Now dallies with the foliage green. 



This is the hour so loved by all 

Whose thoughts are lingering with the past. 
For scenes and forms to memory dear. 

Gather around us dim and fast. 



TWILIGHT. 63 

Childhood's bright hours, youth's short romance, 
And manhood's dreams of power and fame. 

Again come back to cheat the heart. 
So changed by time, yet still the same. 



The mingling tones of voices gone, 
Are breathing round us sw^eet and low, 

And eyes are beaming once again. 
That smiled upon us long ago. 

We gaze upon those loving orbs, 
Which never coldly turn away ; 

We clasp the hand, and press the lip, 
Of forms that but in memory stay. 



We feel the influence of a spell. 

And w^ake to smiles, or melt to tears. 

As pass before the dreaming eye, 
The light and shade of other years. 



O, pleasant is the dewy morn ! 

And golden noon is fair to see ; 
But sweeter far the closing day ; 

Dearer the twilisiht hour to me. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 

My Father, grant thy presence nigh, 

To upward bear my sinking soul, 
When sorrow o'er my pathway here. 

In widely whelming waves doth roll. 
Oy teach mine else unguarded heart, 

The clouds of gloomy doubt to shun. 
To bow unto thy chastening hand, 

And meekly say, " Thy will be done." 



Though dark to us thy ways may seem. 

Thy needful chastisements severe ; 
Thou dost not willingly afflict. 

Nor grieve thine erring children here. 
O, teach my heart to lean on thee. 

To faith and resignation won. 
To see thy love in all thy ways, 

And humbly say, " Thy will be done." 



SONG OF THE SAILOR'S BRIDE. 

I DREAM of one who is far away, 

On the wide and mighty sea ; 
The wild waves around his proud ship play, 

Which bounds onward merrily. 
I dream of one who is far away, 

Is he dreaming now of me ? 



I think of one who has loved me well, 

In the happy days gone by ; 
My bosom heaves with a struggling swell. 

And the salt tears fill mine eye. 
I sigh for one who has loved me well, 

Does he echo back my sigh ? 



The moon looks down on the silver deep, 
With a sweet and gentle smile. 

And the waves beneath her soft light sleep, 
All peacefully the while. 

Does my love, like me, long vigils keep. 
While the moon- beams round him smile ? 



66 SONG OF THE SAILOR's BRIDE 

A pure, bright star is glittering now, 

In the azure depths above ; 
The fairest gem on night's radiant brow, 

Where a brilliant wreath is wove. 
Bright star of hope, in thy light I bow, 

Art thou watching o'er my love ? 



While I kneel upon the wave- washed shore, 

Of the blue and sounding sea. 
All my fond heart's wishes upward soar, 

And I pray to Heaven for thee. 
The waters divide our souls no more. 

If thy prayers go up for me. 



REBECCA'S INTERVIEW WITH ROWENA. 

The fair Rowena musing sat, 

Her maidens by her side, 
And pleasant were her thoughts, I ween. 

That loved and happy bride. 
Who craves admittance to the bower ? 

Who seeks the bride's retreat ? 
Rowena raised her head and saw 

Rebecca at her feet. 



" Lady, forgive this homage deep. 

The custom of my land, 
You see the Jewess, Wilfred saved 

With his own knightly hand. 
To you the grateful thanks I bring. 

Which to your lord I owe. 
Who fousfht ao;ainst such fearful odds 

In the lists at Templestowe." 



That there was sadness at her heart. 
Well did her glance express. 

As calm the Jewish maiden stood 
In unveiled loveliness. 



6S Rebecca's interview with rowena 

She gazed upon the open brow, 

The sunny, straying curl, 
And the soul-speaking, heaven-blue eyes 

Of the fair Saxon girl. 

Her hand a silver casket holds, 

And bright its contents shine, 
A priceless gift of orient pearls. 

And diamonds of the mine. 
" Lady, a trifle this contains 

From my own glittering store, 
I count them of no value now, 

I ne'er wear jewels more. 

" Soon do we wander far away 

From merry England's shore. 
Bear to your lord my last adieu, 

I see his face no more. 
My prayers shall rise for Ivanhoe, 

However far removed. 
That happy be his lot, with one 

So fair and so beloved." 

Then o'er her dark eye's lustrous light, 

There passed a shade of pain. 
" Oh lady ! take the baubles bright, 

I ne'er wear gems again ! 



Rebecca's interview with rowena. 69 

Think not my father's grateful heart 

Can be by gold defiled, 
Or prize these sparkling stones before 

The honor of his child. 



^* Mute are the harps by Jordan's waves, 

Where Judah woke their tone, 
And we have now no land, no home, 

That we may call our owm. 
We see the Moslem's step defile 

The city of our love, 
And oft our sad and long tried hearts, 

Droop like the weary dove. 

" Say, to the lord of Ivanhoe, 

My father seeks the halls 
Of a dear brother of our name. 

Within Granada's walls. 
Tell him, our thoughts where'er we roam, 

Will on his kindness dwell ; 
The sails are spread to waft us hence, 

I may not stay ! farewell !" 



SONG. 

" Let others share thy brightest smiles, 
But keep thy tears for me." 

Ne'er did the homage of my heart, 

From thee one moment stray ; 
Though bade to deem thee false and cold. 

When thou wert far away : 
Yet was the memory of thy love, 

A sacred relic kept ; 
While others sought my smiles to share, 

For thee alone I wept. 



Long years had passed ; again we met ; 

And still my heart records, 
How chill the smile upon thy lip. 

How cold thy greeting words. 
I strove to veil my breaking heart. 

That none its wound might see. 
And when I smiled on all around. 

My tears were kept for thee. 

Think not my love will wear away 
Like sands where waters lave, 



SONG. 71 



Or pass like morning mist, dispersed 
By sunbeams from the wave. 

Time tries his all-eftacing power 
In vain on love like mine ; 

Though few now win a smile from me. 
Still all my tears are thine. 



THE WARNING. 

How often when we would be gay, amid surrounding 

mirth, 
Will a weight bear our spirits down to the dull things of 

earth ; 
And the heart feels mid joyous scenes with sudden sadness 

bowed. 
As o'er the sunny landscape passes the darkening cloud. 

Is not the presence felt, of those who unseen round us 

stay ? 
The guardian spirits of the dead watching our devious 

way; 
And do we not^ when saddened thus, their gentle voices 

hear, 
Warning us kindly, to prepare for evils hovering near ? 

I knew a fair and gentle girl, all tenderness and truth, 
Who saw the dark grave close above the idol of her youth ; 
Bright hopes of heaven and holy things within her heart 

were strong, 
And all who loved her, sadly thought the flower would 

fade ere long. 



THEWARNING. 73 

*' Come, Anna, love!" her mother said, " leave thou the 
pale moonlight. 

And bind the wreath upon thy brow to meet the gay to- 
night. 

I would not have thee musing here within thy bower alone, 

But lend thy light step to the dance, thy voice to music's 
tone." 



" Oh, mother, dearest ! urge me not to mingle with the 

gay; 
A loved voice from the spirit-land is calling me away ; 
I will not bring a pale cheek there, for I have read my 

doom. 
And if I wreath my locks to-night, I wreath them for 

the tomb." 



To seek the lone and lovely one, the mother left the crowd, 
And soon a voice of agony was heard in wailing loud ; 
For fair as a night-folded flower she found her sleeping 

there. 
With a sweet smile upon her lips and roses in her hair. 



SONG. 

Air— «« 'Tis the last rose of summer." 

I HAVE watched for thy coming 

Till twilight is old, 
And the dark brow of evening 

Is glittering with gold. 
Each zephyr that rustles, 

1 think thou art near ; 
I ani weary with waiting 

Thy footsteps to hear. 



In her pathway of beauty, 

All fair and serene, 
With sweet grace gliding onward 

Is night's gentle queen. 
The moon- silvered blossoms 

In silence repose. 
And the nightingale warbles 

His love to the rose. 

The stars only witness 
This anguish of mine, 



75 



But they heed not my weeping, 

As coldly they shine. 
My proud heart shall banish 

A sorrow so vain, 
And fond vow, or promise. 

Trust never again. 



TO A CRICKET. 

Cease ! cricket, cease thy melancholy song ! 

Its chiming cadence falls upon my ear 
With such a saddening influence, all day long, 

I cannot bear those mournful notes to hear : 
Notes, that will often start the unbidden tear, 

And wake the heart to memories of old days. 
When life knew not a sorrow or a fear, 

Forever basking in the sunny rays 
Which seem so passing bright to youth's all-trustful gaze. 



Once more my steps are stayed at eventide. 

Beneath the fairest moon that ever shone. 
Where the old oak threw out its branches wide. 

Over t^e low roof of mine early home ; 
Ere yet my bosom knew a wish to roam 

From the broad shelter of that ancient tree. 
Or dreamed of other lands beside our own, 

Beyond the boundary of that flowery lea, 
For the green valley there, was world enough for me. 



TOACRICKET. 77 

A group are gathered round the household hearth, 

Where chilly autumn bids the bright flame play, 
And social converse sweet, and childhood's mirth, 

Swiftly beguile the lengthened eve away. 
A laughing girl shakes back her tresses gay. 

With a half doubtful look and wondering tone, 
*' Hark ! there is music ! do you hear the lay ? 

Mother, what is it singing in the stone ? 
Some luckless fairy wight imprisoned there alone ?" 



'Tis memory all that doth the spell renew, 

And though thy notes may strike the '' electric chain," 
Thou canst not bring those vanished forms to view, 

Or give me back my happy days again. 
Alone, I am alone, these tears in vain 

For the loved tenants of the tomb are given ; 
They sleep — no more to suffer grief or pain ; 

No more to gaze upon the star-lit heaven, 
Or with hushed hearts to list thy solemn strain at even. 

Wake not remembrance thus ; for stern the fate 
That marks my pathway with a weary doom. 

And to a heart so worn and desolate, 

Thy boding voice may add a deeper gloom. 

Though few the clouds which o'er the blue sky roam, 
And green the livery of our forest bowers, 
7* 



78 TO A CRICKET. 

To warn us of a sure decay ye come, 

In sable guise, trailing the faded flowers, 
Singing the death-song sad of summer's waning hours. 

Those emerald robes shall change to russet brown, 

Which summer over vale and hill-side cast ; 
To other skies that wear no wintry frown. 

Bright birds will wing their weary way at last ; 
And autumn's hectic hues, which fade so fast. 

Shall make the " dark old woods" awhile look gay ; 
But death must come when the rare show is past : 

Then cease thy chant ! dark prophet of decay ! 
1 cannot bear to hear thy melancholy lay. 



HYMN AT SEA. 

Our bark is moving o'er the mighty, deep, 

While cahn the waves upon its surface sleep. 

The sun is sinking to his briny rest, 

Dying with ruby hue the water's breast. 

God of the wide, and ever-heaving ocean. 

Hear thou the warm heart's hymn of deep devotion ! 



Whom shall we praise but Thee ? the sea is thine ; 
And though we toss upon the foaming brine, 
Which rises high around, like scattered dust, 
Thou art our refuge, and in thee we trust ; 
For thou canst smooth the ocean-path before us. 
And bid the rainbow, love's own arch, bend o'er us. 



Whom shall we fear but Thee ? the winds are thine ; 
Curling the sea in a long silver line ; 
Dashing the waves o'er the devoted deck. 
Or howling wildly round the vessel's wreck : 
O'er the vexed waters then, thy spirit moving. 
Bids them be still, the angry surge reproving. 



80 H Y M N A T S E A . 

Whom shall we trust beside ? alone with thee, 
Our bark is bounding o'er the solemn sea. 
On, let the waves heave on ! Thou dost not sleep ; 
Thy watchful love is M^ith us on the deep ; 
Guiding us safely o'er the billow's motion. 
Though dark our pathway on the midnight ocean. 



JUNE. 

I SING thy beauties now, 
Month of the golden morn and dewy noon, 
For fairest of the sister-three art thou, 

O lovely, smiling June ! 

How gay this world of ours. 
When thou dost all around rich roses fling. 
And to the hill-side, and the garden bowers, 

Bloom in profusion bring. 

Now is the time for hope ; 
Now should the poet's dial, tell the hours, 
Which marks the moments by the buds that ope. 

Or foldino; of the flowers. 



For those who seek her love, 
Nature holds court in a gay-decked saloon. 
Where the rich tapestry is all inwove 

With leaves and flowers of June. 



82 



JUNE 



Sweet doth the music come 
From zephyr's harp, in the green branches stirred, 
The lay of glancing streams, and insect hum, 

And sono- of summer bird. 



The morning sunlight shines, 
Robing in golden mist the laughing stream ; 
Shedding a glory where the red rose twines, 

And many dew-drops gleam. 

The moonbeams, pale and mild, 
Look down upon the buds that folded sleep, 
Like the young mother watching o'er her child. 

With love so pure and deep. 

Thy joyous presence lends 
To every heart that droops, a cheering boon ; 
Oh, blessed be the bounteous hand, which sends 

The leaves and flowers of June. 



TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 

Sweet sister, in life's promise vain our trust, 
Our ardent love was powerless to save ; 

The beating of thy gentle heart is hushed. 

And autumn winds are sighing o'er thy grave. 



O, never more shall spring thy heart rejoice ; 

Thy treasured name is numbered with the dead ; 
Hushed is the music of that happy voice, 

And from thine eye the light of love has fled. 



I cannot realize a grief so deep. 

And oftentimes my doubting heart will deem, 
That I have laid me down to troubled sleep. 

And soon shall waken from this weary dream. 



0, I had hoped ere many moons, to come 

And spend with thee some pleasant hours of life. 

To see thee in the quiet of thy home, 
A tender mother and devoted wife. 



84 TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 

And he, the chosen of thy youthful years, 
How dark to him appears thine early fate ; 

The fountain of his love is turned to tears, 
His home is sad, his heart is desolate. 



Look up, thou mourner, to her blest abode. 

Where round the throne of God bright seraphs kneel. 

And bow submissive to the chastening rod. 

For he who wounds thee now will surely heal. 



In that fair land, where blight can never fall, 
P^ar from the weary world's perplexing strife, 

There is a fount which freely flows, where all 
May drink the waters of eternal life. 



Farewell, beloved friend, a long farewell ! 

In Auburn's shades, O, peaceful be thy rest ; 
The anguish of my heart these tears will tell ; 

'Tis selfish thus to mourn when thou art blest. 



TO WILLIE. 

"Is thy face like thy mother's." 

O, PLEASANT are the places 

Where childhood's voice is heard, 

And joyous are the echoes 

By childhood's laughter stirred. 



And cheerful is the mansion 

Where gay young hearts are found, 
And joyful is the cottage 

Where children frolic round. 



Blessed are little children, 
And ever where they move, 

Around them is the fragrance 
Of innocence and love. 



We watch their fairy footsteps. 
Their glances glad and bright. 

And list their broken accents. 
With feelings of delight. 



86 T O W I L L I E . 



There are no children round me ; 

I sing my song to day, 
For a bright boy who dwelleth 

An hundred miles away. 



I ne'er have seen thee, WilUe, 
And fancy vainly tries, 

To give thy form and features. 
And color of thine eyes. 



But O, my heart is open. 
Thine image there to take ; 

For thy sweet name I love thee. 
And for thy mother's sake. 



And art thou like thy mother ? 

Hast thou her sunny face ? 
Can those who fondly loved her, 

In thine her features trace ? 



Dear child, thy fair young mother, 
Early to death did bow ; 

But from her place in heaven. 
She watcheth o'er thee now. 



T W I L L I E . 87 



Thou knowest not this sorrow, 
And we will not repine ; 

But rather joy, in thinking 
A charmed life is thine. 



Charmed from all sin and evil, 
Thy way must ever be, 

For a pure, white robed angel, 
Is always guarding thee. 



Thou art not near me, Willie, 
But I seem to see thee now, 

With the likeness of thy mother. 
Stamped on thine open brow. 



Thy father gazes on thee, 

Through eyes with sadness dim. 
Then to his heart he folds thee, 

For thou art all to him. 



He sighs for one departed. 
Gone in her summer years ; 

The loved and happy hearted. 
The mourned with many tears. 



88 T W I L L I E . 

Through the long day he thinketh ; 

Though care upon him press ; 
How he shall come at evening, 

And meet thy dear caress. 



How he shall part thy tresses, 
And list thy lisping tone. 

And press thy lip of velvet 
So softly to his own. 

Thy toys are all deserted, 

When his quick step draws nigh, 
He hears thee murmur '' father !" 

Then to his fond arms fly. 

O, Willie ! to thy father, 
How very dear thou art ! 

Long may God spare thee to him, 
Thou treasure of his heart ! 



Farewell, now, little Willie ; 

My kiss and blessing take ; 
For thy sweet name I love thee. 

And for thy mother's sake. 



FORGIVENESS. 

When the last lesson Jesus taught, 

We in our hearts would shrine, 
How are we moved with love so deep. 

Forgiveness so divine. 
We see him nailed upon the cross. 

Cold with the dew of death, 
Imploring pardon for his foes. 

With his fast failing breath. 

Saviour ! to thee we trusting come ; 

Look from thy throne above ! 
Teach us to meekly imitate. 

Thy pure and holy love. 
However coldly, deeply wronged. 

Be our petition too, 
*' Father, forgive the sinful ones. 

They know not what they do !" 



SURELY TO THEE, MY ROSE. 



I never loved a tree, or flower, 
But 'twas the first to fade away." 



" Surely to thee, my rose, 

Harm can come never ;" 
Thus did I fondly say, 

Tending it ever. 
Lovely its blossoms grew. 

From the storm shaded ; 
The frost-spirit kissed it. 

Then the rose faded. 



Sister, to watch o'er thee. 

Is my sad duty ; 
Thou too art frail and fair, 

Rose-like in beauty. 
Fast from thy damask cheek. 

Life's hue is flying. 
And, like thine emblem true. 

Thou too art dying. 



MYROSE. 91 



Thus do the visions bright, 

Fond hope has given, 
Pass hke the sunset hues, 

Paling to even. 
All that I ever love, 

All that I cherish. 
Twine close around my heart, 

Only to perish. 



THE DUELIST. 

Thou art a murderer ! Thy hand 

Has taken life away, 
And ever in thy memory 

The record dark shall stay ; 
The record of a brother man, 

Whose life the Father gave, 
By thee, in manhood's summer years, 

Sent to the silent grave. 

Think of the orphan ones, deprived 

Of a fond father's care ; 
The weeping wife whose sunny hopes 

Are darkened by despair. 
O, couldst thou meet her anguished look, 

Her sad reproachful eye, 
I would not wish that thou shouldst know 

A deeper agony. 

Though human laws take no revenge, 

For blood thus idly shed. 
There is a monitor within, 

A vision of the dead : 



THEBUELIST. 93 

Thou canst not fly thy punishment ; 

Ah, vain were such belief; 
All day the thought shall follow thee, 

And night bring no relief. 



As still with slow and leaden pace, 

The weary years depart. 
The canker of remorse shall eat. 

More deep into thy heart. 
O, happier far is he who sleeps, 

So coldly slain by thee, 
For thine shall be a living death. 

Thy curse is memory. 

" Thou shalt not kill." How long, O Lord ! 

Will this command be vain. 
Men in high offices of trust. 

From murder to restrain ? 
Shall honoris code make void the law. 

Which God to man has given ? 
And those in power uphold the sin ? 

Forbid ! forbid it. Heaven ! 



DEDICATION HYMN. 

Lord, thou hast crowned the fruitful year, 
With blessings and with bounty free ; 

The golden corn upon the ear, 

And ripened grain, around me see. 

And while the plenteous harvest fills 
Our garners with its precious store ; 

And in the vales, and on the hills. 
The reapers' song and toil are o'er ; 

'Tis meet that we should raise a fane. 
In which to bend the suppliant knee ; 

To call upon thy holy name. 

And render praise and thanks to thee. 

And though in temples man doth rear, 
The Mighty One can never dwell, 

May those who come to worship here, 
The workings of thy spirit tell. 



DEDICATION HYMN. 95 

Here may meek woman bring her woe, 

To seek, and find, relief in prayer ; 
And man with contrite spirit bow, 

When called the cup of grief to share. 



O, may thy children learn in thee 
A kind, impartial God to view, 

Whose love and grace to all are free. 
As summer rain, or evening dew. 

And never may our zeal grow cold ; 

But while we meet this altar round, 
May we our Saviour's face behold. 

And feel, and say, " 'tis holy ground !" 



HYMN. 

" Ye have the poor always with you."— Matt. 24: 2. 

Stern winter weaves his spell around us now ; 

Brief is the sunshine and the flowers are dead ; 
The murmuring waters long have ceased to flow, 

Chained to their banks beneath his icy tread. 
While the wild winds of winter wanton free, 
How many stand in need of charity. 

List to the ra2;ino; of the bitter storm : 
Many unsheltered heads it passes o'er, 

And though unfelt within your dwellings warm, 
It rudely enters at the poor man's door. 

Shut out the chilling blast with bounty free. 

And heaven will smile upon your charity. 

Let not the sufferer's plea be heard in vain ; 

Let not despair within the bosom stay ; 
'T is sweet to see the orphan smile again, 

'Tis sweet to wipe the widow's tears away. 
Would that the hearts of all might ever be, 
" Open as day to melting charity." 



HYMN. 97 

Have ye fair children who around your hearth, 
In playful happiness your blessings share ? 

Think of the cheerless homes where smiles and mirth, 
Are banished far by penury and care. 

*T is sad a shade upon young brows to see ; 

Bring back the smile with angel charity. 

We need not wander far to find distress, 
Beside our doors the needy ask for bread ; 

Their aching bosoms many cares oppress, 
Their eyes are dim with tears in silence shed. 

While always near us, thus the poor we see. 

Oh, Lord ! incline our hearts to charity. 



THE PORTRAIT AND THE FLOWERS. 

I BRING thee flowers, bright-blooming, autumn flowers 

The cold November rain, and blighting frost, 

Swept o'er them, but they withered not, 

And I have culled them from a sheltered bank, 

Which all day long the warm sun shines upon. 

Soldiers-in-green, the gold immortal flower, 

Rich velvet violets, and the rose-hued aster, 

All are here ; an offering meet for thee : 

Like them in purity of mind and life. 

The storms of calumny have harmed thee not, 

And thy true piety exhales around 

As doth their sweet perfume. 

Few years are thine 
Yet on that open brow, ages of thought 
Have left their shadowy trace, telling 
Of mental toil, and the frame's weariness. 
Spared not, or heeded, in thy Master's cause. 
Would that those silent lips ; so eloquent 
In truth's defence ; might from a picture speak ; 
For the glad tidings which they ever bring. 
Some unbelieving hearts still wait to hear. 



THE PORTRAIT AND THE FLOWERS. 99 

Heaven bless thy mission ; soldier of the cross ; 
To win the sinful from their thorny way, 
To heal the broken-hearted, and impart 
Peace to the dying one ; and may thine own 
Straight path of duty be with life's flowers strewn. 

A ray of golden sunlight sudden gleams 
On cheek and brow, and those soft, serious eyes, 
Seem sweetly smiling now with thankfulness 
For these last blossoms of the fading year. 



THE CROWN OF THORNS. 

In the golden light of a summer day, 
I saw a child with the flowers at play ; 
His face was fair, and his locks of brown 
Were careless twined with a rosy crown. 



To the village green came a band so gay, 
With a gentle girl, the queen of May ; 
They bade her reign o'er the vernal hours. 
And decked her brow with a crown of flowers. 



Fair groups were met in a lighted hall. 
But one brilliant star outshone them all ; 
Her eyes were dark, and her raven curls 
Floated beneath a crown of pearls. 



A feast is spread in yon mansion proud, 
And many guests to the banquet crowd ; 
A stately dame receives them now, 
W^ith a crown of gems on her lofty brow. 



THE CROWN OF THORNS. 101 

A monarch sits on his throne of state, 

While titled slaves around him wait ; 

His hands a jeweled sceptre hold, 

And his head is graced with a crown of gold. 

On the fatal cross I my Saviour see ; 

Did he suffer thus and die for me ? 

No glittering toy his brow adorns. 

Which is pierced by a cruel crown of thorns. 

When I see the proud in their state pass by, 
With the jewelled brow, and the haughty eye, 
I think of the crown my Saviour wore. 
And the world's vain show deceives no more. 

Then bring to me no wreath of flowers, 
Which fade away with the fleeting hours. 
And no circlet graced with the flashing gem, 
For my brow would ache 'neath a diadem. 

Oh, sinless Saviour ! I fain would flee 
From earth's vain pride to follow thee ; 
The meekness choose which thy life adorns, 
And patient wear e'en a crown of thorns. 

9* 



PRAYER OF THE PENITENT. 

Lord, before thee lowly kneeling, 

Penitent my vows I pay ; 
Long on broken idols leaning, 

I have found no rest or stay : 
I have wandered, 

Wandered from thy fold away. 



Like the dove with pinions weary, 
O'er the troubled waves I flee. 

Round me roll the waters dreary. 
May thy love my refuge be. 

I am weary, 
Let me find repose in thee. 

I have ail too fondly treasured, 
Sinful hopes, and wishes vain. 

Let thy grace, and love unmeasured. 
Cleanse my soul from every stain : 

Oh, receive me ! 
Take me in thine arms asfain ! 



PRAYER OF THE PENITENT. 103 

If by thee, God, forsaken, 

All my hope is lost indeed ; 
Let my tears compassion waken, 

Hear me while for help I plead : 
Oh, be near me ! 

Save me in mine hour of need ! 



O'er the grave of buried blessings. 
Standing like a blighted tree, 

Those who shared my fond caressings. 
Near me now no more I see. 

I am wretched ; 
Father, thus I come to thee. 

Lord, for mercy I implore thee ! 

Thou canst dry my bitter tears : 
Trembling I appear before thee. 

Bowed with penitence and years : 
Look upon me ! 

Take away my doubts and fears. 

Life-long sins are all appearing. 
Round me surging like a sea ; 

But thy word, my spirit cheering. 
Offers peace, and pardon free. 

I have suffered. 
Send '' the Comforter" to me. 



THE MORNING STAR. 

Weary I watch, with a restless heart, 
Till the solemn hours of night depart ; 
Till day appears in the east afar, 
And brightly there beams the morning star. 



Herald of light, when I look on thee, 
All shadowy fears from my spirit flee ; 
As spectres pale at the dawn of day, 
From the haunted grave-yard pass away. 



Thou art a type of our blessed Lord, 
Who calls to those from his fold abroad ; 
" Come unto me ye that wander far. 
For I am the bright and morning star. 



" The river of Hfe is full and free. 
For all who will seek to follow me ; 
Where its crystal waves flow gently on, 
No sun goes down, and no night shall come. 



THE MORNING STAR. 105 

*^ He who has chosen a living faith, 
May lean upon it in pain and death ; 
Fear from his heart shall be banished far, 
And I will give him the morning star."* 

When I look up for some steady beam. 
To light me on with its cheering gleam ; 
When fearful clouds round my pathway roll, 
Rise o'er the darkness, star of my soul ! 

Let not my heart lose that only ray, 
Which can illumine life's darksome way ; 
Let me not wander from thee afar, 
Savior ! be thou my morning star ! 

• Rev. 2 : 28. 



DEDICATION OF A CHURCH. 

God's holy temple ! We have reared thy walls, 
With happy hearts and joyful haste to Him, 

Around whose love no shadow ever falls. 

To make its ceaseless, quenchless light grow dim. 



Thou art no lofty fane, but He who hears 

The sky-lark's morning hymn, will not despise 

The lowly offering of repentant tears ; 

Or heartfelt prayers that from thine altar rise. 



The swelling sound of thy sweet Sabbath bell, 
Will cheer the pilgrim on his weary road ; 

And when his eyes upon thy spire shall dwell, 
His heart will feel the holy love of God. 



And should it be our lot afar to roam. 

Our thoughts will homeward turn with joy to thee. 
And those who oft within thy portals come. 

To listen to the truth which maketh free. 



DEDICATION OF A CHURCH. 107 

O, may we love to visit this abode ; 

And feel while joying over sins forgiven, 
It is no other than the house of God, 

The gate through which our feet may pass to heaven. 



*'WHY WEEPEST THOU?"* 

Upon the resurrection morn 

Of him who died to save, 
A tearful woman was the first 

To seek his silent grave. 
When o'er that love, deserted spot, 

The mourner came to bow. 
She heard his well known voice exclaim, 

" Mary ! why weepest thou ?" 

" Forget thy grief, and haste to those 

Who now lament for me. 
And tell them that their risen Lord 

Thine eyes were blest to see ; 
Say that the Master they have loved, 

To each his blessing gives ; 
And be thou joyful in the thought. 

That thy Redeemer lives.'' 

Sad is my spirit, and cast down ; 

Disquieted my soul ; 
The rushing torrent of my tears, 

I can no more control. 

* John 20. 



WHY WEEPEST THOU? 109 

While, unresisting, to the storm 

Of passion wdld, I bow, 
I hear my Savior softly say, 

" Mary, why weepest thou ?" 

" Let no vain grief thy peace destroy, 

Thy dearest hopes shall die ; 
They fade before thy vision here, 

To beam ag-ain on hio;h. 
When prone to murmur at the ills, 

Which must thy portion be. 
Look to the fatal cross whereon 

Thy Saviour died for thee." 

Rebuked, dear Jesus, at thy feet 

My sorrow I resign ; 
Let my own heart forget its pain, 

While I remember thine. 
Thy thorny crown, thy taunting foes. 

And wounded side I see ; 
When have I suffered like the Lamb 

Whose blood was shed for me ? 

But soon the lesson is forgot. 

Thoughtless I turn away, 

And fix my love, my joy, my hope, 

On idols formed of clay. 
10 



no WHY WEEPEST THOU? 

Alas ! the dark, insatiate grave, 
Is opening for them now ; 

But there again my Saviour speaks, 
" Mary, why weepest thou ?'^ 



" Remember while thy tears flow fast 

Above the silent sod, 
Nothing thou lovest there remains, 

The spirit is with God. 
Have I not told you many times ; 

And shall my word be vain ; 
That as I triumphed over death, 

So shall they live again ?" 



Lord, I believe ! Thy soothing words, 

My faith, my hope increase ; 
Like oil upon the tossing waves. 

They hush my soul to peace : 
A peace so deep-felt, and so sweet, 

Which nothing earthly gives : 
I will be joyful in the thought, 

That my Redeemer lives. 



THE GOOD MAN'S BURIAL. 

" Unveil thy bosom," ever '' faithful tomb," 
And take the righteous to his peaceful rest ; 

The narrow house wears no appalling gloom, 
To one who comes with years and virtues blest. 

O, blest indeed ; through a long, blameless life, 
To bear a name seldom to mortals given ; 

To shun the mazy ways of sin and strife, 

And walk the path that leads direct to heaven. 

And still, though clouds and darkness intervene, 
And trials come which weaker trust destroy, 

To gaze with steady faith on that bright scene, 
Where those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. 

To drink with spirit undefiled and free, 
The welling waters of eternal truth, 

And though life's morning hours forever flee. 
To keep a heart fresh with the dew of youth. 

Such is the treasure which we bring to thee, 
O grave ! thou silent and secure abode ! 

Guard well the trust, till from thy fetters free. 
He mounts to heaven along the starry road. 



112 



The aged and the young are gathered here, 

To see the dust upon his coffin fall ; 
Gray heads are bowed, and bright eyes drop the tear, 

For one lamented and beloved by all. 

Weep not for him, the ransomed, the redeemed, 
To earth-bound spirits let your tears be given ; 

E'en here a holy light around him beamed. 

And saint -like virtues v^^on the smiles of heaven. 



And thou, companion of his lengthened years. 
Who shared his fortunes with a love so strong. 

Wipe from thy widowed eyes the streaming tears ; 
Be comforted, your parting is not long. 

Why should we sorrow though our friend depart ? 

Though round his form death's solemn shadow lies 
Life's mission o'er, he went with willing heart. 

To join the just made perfect in the skies. 

As fades the twilight in the cloudless west. 
So waned the evening of his life away ; 

But morn again shall dawn upon his rest. 
The glorious morning of a perfect day. 



ARE WE SLUMBERING NOW ? 

" The night is far spent, the day is at hand : let us therefore cast off the works 
of darkness, and let us put on the armor of light." — Rom. 13 : 12. 

Are we slumbering now when a watch we should keep ? 
Let us banish the spell and wake from our sleep ! 
On the watch-towers of Zion the trumpet we hear, 
^•' It is time to rejoice for salvation is near." 



Yes, the night is far spent and the day is at hand ; 
Free from terror and gloom in the brightness we stand ; 
The gray mist away from our pathway has rolled. 
And the beams of the morning around we behold. 



Let us leave the soft couch at this earliest hour. 
While the dew is yet fresh on each leaflet and flower ; 
Let us put off" the garments of sin from our sight. 
And go forth to the day clothed in armor of light. 



The film is removed which has darkened our eyes, 
That truth, like the sun, on our vision may rise ; 
And the chains from the mind are fast falling away, 
As the mist is dispersed by the dawning of day. 
10* 



114 ARE WE SLUMBERING NOWr 

In the sunlight of hope unmolested we stand, 
With plenty and health smiling over our land : 
Here no tyrant can take what was given by God, 
And no priest holds a key to interpret His word. 



Thy promises, Father, are given to all ; 
How sweet from the lips of the Saviour they fall ; 
And no craft, or device, can the record efface. 
For man may not measure, or limit thy grace. 

On our green, sunny hills the white cottage is seen. 
And the spire rises up in the valleys between : 
From the church in the vale prayer and praises are heard, 
And the cottager sings of the goodness of God. 



From the lowly, fair science is hidden no more, 
For the hard hands of labor are opening her store ; 
And the poor, with the wealthy and great, may unfold 
The treasures of knowledge, more precious than gold. 



In the streets of the city fair virtue is seen ; 
How spotless her robes and how heavenly her mein ! 
With her ranks filling fast she moves on in the light. 
While vice shrouds her form in the darkness of night. 



ARE WE SLUMBERING NOW? 115 

Strong manhood comes forth, and forsaking the bow4, 
From the spirit of evil redeemeth his soul ; 
For the board and the feast are with temperance crowned, 
And pure water is drank where the wine-cup went round. 



O, glad should our hearts be, while thus going on 
All around us we see the great work of reform ; 
We may surely rejoice when the servants of sin. 
To the kingdom of virtue and peace enter in. 



To the Father, should praise and thanksgiving arise, 
When a morning so glorious gladdens our eyes : 
May he grant that the sunlight thus bright at its dawn, 
Go not out ere the noonday in darkness and storm. 



Let us watch and be sober as onward we move ; 
Let us put on the breastplate of faith and of love ; 
From the sword of the Spirit the wicked will flee ; 
And the hope of salvation our helmet shall be. 

With hearts firm and true we will walk in the day ; 
For the night and the darkness are passing away ; 
And strong in the Lord, and the power of his might. 
We will fearless go forth in our armor of light. 



THE STRANGER'S GRAVE. 

Where the swift waves of the blue, " arrowy Rhone," 

Spread wide around^ then on, their pathway take, 

From her far home a pale young girl was borne. 

In search of health, to fair Geneva's lake. 

Is it not cruel kindness thus to take 

A wounded bird from its loved nest to die ? 

To bear it from its own green, forest-land. 

To fold its wings beneath a foreign sky ? 

The stern, proud Alps lift up their towering heads, 

Crowned with a cold WTeath of eternal snow, 

While blue and clear, the deep, unruffled lake 

Rests like a mirror for their forms below. 

Long on the landscape has the fair girl gazed. 

Till fast the day is waning into night, 

Round the high Alps the sunset-glories gleam, 

Bathino- their summits in a flood of light. 

Why does she thus her sad eyes turn away ? 

Far from the scene her wakened memories roam. 

To a white dwelling by a winding stream. 

In the green valleys of her distant home. 

Fresh o'er her grief- wrung heart are rushing now. 

The bright and cherished hopes of early years. 

Pressed are her hands upon her throbbing brow. 

Through her white, slender fingers steal the tears. 



117 



Eudora strove to soothe the sorrowing girl, 
Though her own gentle heart was almost broke, 
Till with a smile she wiped the tears away. 
And calmly thus her dying wishes spoke. 

" Sing to me, sister, for my eyes are closing. 

Sing of our wild woods, and our summer bowers ; 
Sing of the shadows on the stream reposing. 

Sing of the morn, the sunshine and the flowers. 
Sweet on my ear thine echoed song is staying, 

Wafting my spirit to the skies away. 
And angel hands their golden harps are playing. 

In the blest regions of eternal day. 

" Soon will this pain-w^orn frame from thee be taken, 

Which thou hast loved so well, my sister blest ; 
Like the tired dove, all scenes of earth forsaken. 

Soon shall I flee away and be at rest. 
Think of me, sister, with thy face unshaded, 

By sorrow's cloud, and grief's fast falling tears. 
As one who fell like a frail flower faded. 

In the fresh-spring-time of her blooming j^ears. 

'' Speak to me, sister ! for my voice is failing ; 

Speak of the happiness our youth has known ; 
Speak of my brother on the ^Egean sailing. 

And of all loved ones in our childhood's home. 



lis THE stranger's GRAVE. 

Tell them, Eudora, of my hope in dying ; 

Tell them my faith grew stronger to the last, 
On our dear Saviour's promise, sure, relying, 

Of a re-union vv^hen the grave is passed. 



*' Would I could see my father and my brother, 

And that sweet home beyond the waters wide ; 
Would I might sleep beside ray blessed mother. 

In our own church-yard by the mountain side. 
Kiss me, my sister ! it will soon be over — 

The secrets of the grave, oh, who shall tell ! 
Angels around me on their bright wings hover, 

I may not linger here — farewell ! farewell!" 

Gently her trusting spirit took its flight. 

From earth and all endearing ties away, 
When the last sunbeam passed from vale and height. 

And twilight stole upon the steps of day. 
A marble slab beside Geneva's lake. 

Tells where the maiden slept in youthful bloom. 
And there no sorrowing friends their pathway take. 

To twine the fresh wreath for her lonely tomb ; 
But foreign wild-flowers in the soft winds wave. 
And breathe their fragrance round the stranger'' s grave* 



THE MINSTREL'S PRIZE. 

In a wide hall a maiden stood, 

A maiden fair to see, 
And round the dais steps there came 

A goodly company. 

Both lords and knights of courage tried, 

And lineage high, I ween, 
Who brought the homage valor pays 

To beauty's chosen queen. 

Their mail-clad forms passed proudly up 

The polished oaken floor, 
And streaming plume and dazzling crest 

Bent low the maid before. 

Though fair the lady's damsel train, 
Which graced that ancient hall, 

They were but stars, and she the sun 
That far outshone them all. 

A veil of Mechlin's richest lace, 

Fell to her garment's hem ; 
Of violet velvet was her robe. 

Of pearls her diadem. 



120 



Her train, with silver stars bespread, 
Vied with the evening blue ; 

And then her Httle foot stole out 
In high-heeled, satin shoe. 



Over her pure and ivory brow, 
When her fair face was bowed, 

A shower of silken tresses fell. 
Like a bright golden cloud. 



Her soft eyes, with a liquid light. 

From their long fringe beamed through 

Like the blue hyacinth when bathed 
In drops of summer dew. 

Light was the tint upon her cheek. 

As morning's faintest flush. 
Which often deepened to the rose 

With pleasure's sudden blush. 

The charms of such a matchless maid 
Could any knight withstand ? 

Her dowry was that castle proud, 
And many roods of land. 



THE minstrel's PRIZE. 121 

The noble wooed with courtly words ; 

The minstrel strung his rhymes ; 
Much trouble had she with her beaus, 

That maid of other times. 



When for one only mid the train, 
Her love should be confest, 

What bliss for him, the chosen knight, 
What woe for all the rest. 



How many said their dearest joy 
Was in her smiles to dwell ; 

How many vowed to drown themselves, 
'T were vain for me to tell. 



Some vowed to drain the poison bowl ; 

Some spoke of poisoned darts ; 
Ah me ! it must be sad to break 

So very many hearts. 



Strange, that a maiden^s charms should work 

With such a potent power ! 
Was it the beauty of her face ? 

Or value of her dower ? 

11 



122 THE minstrel's prize. 

Beneath the beaming sky of June, 

Unto that castle gray, 
Why came those proud and valiant knights 

In all their bright array ? 



The lovely lady of their dreams, 
That summer day had named. 

On which to hear the suit of each. 
And have her choice proclaimed. 



First spoke a noble earl, and low 
He bowed him to the ground. 

While whispers and approving smiles 
The damsel train went round. 



"Bright queen of beauty ! leagues of land. 

And wealth untold is mine ; 
Upon thy robes shall diamonds rare, 

And costly jewels shine. 



" There is no wish thy heart can ask, 

But it shall granted be. 
And not a queen in all the land. 

Shall e'er be served like thee." 



THE minstrel's PRIZE. 123 

" Now turn away, thou generous earl, 

This hand can ne'er be thine ; 
And deem not either wealth or state, 

May purchase love of mine." 



Then came a knight of noble mien, 
Glittering in silver mail, 

And fear of unrequited love. 
Turned his proud visage pale. 



Over his gleaming helmet's crest, 
A heron plume drooped low. 

Shading with long and graceful sweep 
His high and haughty brow. 



" I, too, have wealth and lands, fair flower, 

To humbly offer thee, 
Joined with a name not all unknown 

In deeds of chivaky. 

" My joy should be, to see thee blest ; 

To wait upon thy will ; 
And ever guard thee with my life, 

From danger and from ill." 



124 THE minstrel's prize 

" I am not worthy, noble knight, 
To bless thy lofty love ; 

The eagle woos a bird of pride, 
And mates not with the dove." 



Next came a dainty, smiling youth, 

To bend the ready knee ; 
Ko gleaming sword, or glittering crest, 

Or armor proved had he. 



But coat and doublet sown with pearls 

The silver flowers among. 
And velvet mantle gracefully 

Over his shoulder flung. 



Before the lady low he bent 

With reverent air, and then 
Shook his " ambrosial curls," and bowed 

To her fair damsel tnain. 



Fain would he have the maiden think 
His heart was sad the while ; 

But in his deep blue, roughish eye, 
There lurked a sunny smile. 



THE minstrel's PRIZE. 125 

" Thou peerless one ! what has a prince 

To offer, worthy thee ? 
Thou wouldst despise the countless gems 

That shine beneath the sea. 



" O, give me love for love ! in bliss 
Should glide each fleeting day, 

And not a care might come to thee, 
Which I could drive away. 



" Thy home shall be a palace proud. 
Where pleasure reigns supreme ; 

Thy heart the blessed shrine of joy ; 
Thy life a gorgeous dream." 



" Fair prince, thy curls of sunny brown, 

And merry eyes of blue. 
Will win a princess for thy bride. 

Whose years like thine are few. 



" Go to thy father's brilliant court. 
Where wit and beauty shine. 

And waste thy gallant speech no more. 
On ears so cold as mine." 
11* 



126 



Stand back ! stand back, ye youthful knights ! 

What suitor comes this way ? 
With eagle eye, and bushy beard, 

And locks of iron gray ! 



Of the brave soldiers of the cross 

A valiant leader he, 
And Paynim hosts before his might 

All wild with terror flee. 



Full fifty years has father Time 
His hand upon him laid : 

He has won honor and renown, 
But will he win the maid ? 



^' Thy thoughtful words and modest mien ; 

So free from pride and art ; 
Thy beaming eyes and smiles have won 

The soldier's iron heart. 



" No lays of love in beauty's bower 
By me have e'er been sung : 

The tracks of time are on my brow. 
But still my heart is young. 



THE minstrel's PRIZE. 127 

'^ My Castile towers above the Thames, 

With lawn and gardens wide ; 
To be an Eden it but needs 

A bright and bonny bride. 



" I would not suffer e'en the wind 

Round thee to roughly blow, 
And my right arm should shield thee well 

From every mortal foe." 



" Thanks, my good lord, for wishes kind ; 

In answer let me say. 
This fact is proven to my mind, 

December weds not May." 



Still plumes are dancing in the hall ; 

There yet are full a score 
Who wait to press their suit, and wish 

The " fiery trial" o'er. 



But while they pause, a manly step 

Advances up the line, 
And on that form no woven mail, 

Or jeweled garments shine. 



128 THE minstrel's prize 

But far more modestly arrayed 
111 minstrel garb of green ; 

And by his side a shining lyre 
Of silver sound is seen. 



Dark, chestnut curls luxuriant wave 
That polished brow above, 

And his deep hazel eyes beam forth 
The very soul of love. 



And melting are the music tones 
Those chiseled lips that part ; 

Such tones as cannot fail to reach 
A youthful maiden's heart. 



His is a gift more highly prized 
Than wealth or rank, I ween, 

The light of song a glory sheds 
Around the minstrel's mien. 



Love's liquid words, the lyre's deep notes. 

Live not in lay of mine ; 
They filled the air, they wrapped the soul 

In melody divine. 



THE minstrel's PRIZE. 129 

But cold appear the burning words 

That tune has breathed upon, 
When the deep pathos passion gave 

And the lyre-notes are gone. 



" Thou morning-star, that first revealed 

The dawn of love to nie ; 
From the low earth I too have dared 

To lift my eyes to thee. 



" I drink thy beams, and wildly wish 
To reach thy place of rest, 

To fold thee fondly in mine arms. 
And wear thee on my breast. 



" Thou shouldst not miss the homage paid 

The votaress of the sun ; 
The worship of a thousand hearts 
Should centre all in one. 



" The humblest of thy humble slaves. 

No sacrifice I bring ; 
No gleaming gold, or flashing gems, 

Round me their radiance fling. 



130 THE minstrel's PRIZE. 

" I offer but a heart that's steeped 

In sorrow and in song, 
Which on thy beauty, from afar, 

Has gazed and worshiped long. 



" To lordly tower and palace proud. 
Dispense not all thy beams ; 

Glide through the lattice of my cot. 
And gild my waking dreams. 



" Deign from thy high ethereal home 
Near my lone path to move ; 

O, cheer me with thy brilliant rays. 
Thou mornino;-star of love !" 



The lovely lady's face is still, 

And passionless no more ; 
Why mounts the blush ? why droops the eye 

Of one so calm before ? 



The minstrel marked her tell-tale cheek 
With those bright blushes dyed ; 

Forward he stepped, then silent stood 
Enraptured by her side. 



PRIZE. 131 



She stirred not, but she saw him there, 
Through lashes drooping low ; 

She almost felt his balmy breath 
Upon her burning brow. 



A moment and she slowly turned 
Those melting orbs of blue, 

On him whose homage filled her heart 
With hope and joy so new. 



He saw the glance ; he clasped her hand. 
And whispered, *'love, be mine !'' 

She hid her face within her veil. 
And answered, " only thine !" 

Then knight and noble cheered the bard, 
And blessed his peerless bride ; 

And pride and valor turned away, 
And left him by her side. 

Around him gazed the son of song. 
With bright, exulting eyes — 

The lyre had vanquished crest and plume, 
And love had won the prize. 



DEATH. 

Thou sleepest ! and so very still thou art, 
Thus in that deep, unbroken slumber l^'ing, 

I watch to see the beating of thy heart. 
Or some emotion o'er thy features flying. 

Sad ones are gathered round thee, wildly weeping. 

Why shed they tears for one so calmly sleeping ? 



How fixed, how statue-like thy resting seems ! 

I hear no sigh forth from thy bosom stealing, 
Such as is often breathed from troubled dreams, 

The weary heart's unquiet state revealing. 
That placid look unto my thoughts replying. 
Says thou art ever freed from pain and sighing. 



How beautiful ! the soft and glossy hair 

A portion of that pure, high forehead shading ; 

The still, wan lips ; the cheek so cold and fair. 
Like a white rose upon a snow-wreath fading ; 

The marble lid over the dark eye closing. 

And the long lash on the pale cheek reposing. 



DEATH. 133 



Can this be Death ? Comes he in such sweet guise, 
The cherished idol from our bosom taking ? 

Has his cold hand sealed up those gentle eyes 

In the calm sleep which knows no earthly waking ? 

Deceitful Death, thus to the fond gaze leaving 

The casket fair, while of the gem bereaving. 



Yes this is death. To the dark, silent tomb. 
In all thy loveliness thou wilt be taken ; 

Spring's balmy gales, and summer's wealth of bloom. 
To life and health can thee no more awaken : 

How little dreamed we of so soon beholding, 

The coffin and the shroud thy form enfolding. 

Rest thee in peace ! Thou hast been called to meet 
The babe who went a little while before thee ; 

Soon will its loving eyes thy coming greet. 

Its seraph wings e^en now are hovering o'er thee ; 

And praised be God ! there is a hope remaining. 

The mourner's heart in this sad hour sustaining. 

Hope in a Saviour, who with dying breath. 
To the tried soul hath a sure promise given. 

That all who triumph over sin and death. 

Shall walk in white with the redeemed in heaven : 

And every heart his blessed words receiving. 

Shall find sweet peace and comfort in believing. 
12 



THE DREAMER. 

"A dark, cold calm which nothing now can break, 
Or warm, or brigliten, — like that Syrian lake, 
Upon whose surface, morn and summer shed 
Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead." 

Soul of mine, why art thou dreaming ? 

Dreaming ever through the day ! 
While life's precious hours are wasting, 

Fast and unimproved away. 



With a world of beauty round me, 
Lone and sad, I dwell apart ; 

Changing scenes can bring no pleasure 
To this wrecked and worn-out heart. 

Now I tempt the quiet ocean, 
While the sky is bright above. 

And the sun-light rests around me. 
Like the beaming smile of love : 

Or by waters softly flowing 

Through the vale, I wander now, 

And the balmy breath of summer. 
Fans my cheek and cools my brow. 



THE DREAMER. 135 

But as well, to me, might darken 

Over all the gloom of night ; 
For no quick and sweet sensations, 

Fill my soul with new delight. 



In the grass-grown, silent church-yard, 
With a listless step, I rove ; 

But I shed no tear of sorrow, 
By the graves of those 1 love. 



Could I weep, the spell might vanish ; 

Tears would bring my heart relief; 
Heart so sealed to all emotion. 

Dead alike to joy and grief. 



When the storm that shook my spirit. 
Left its mission finished there. 

Then a calm more fearful followed 
Than the wildness of despair. 



Whence the spell that chills my being ? 

Bidding every passion cease, 
Closing every fount of feeling. 

Say, my spirit, is it peace ? 



136 THE DREAMER. 

Wake ! O, spell-bound soul, awaken, 
Bid this sad delusion flee ! 

Such a lengthened dream is fearful ; 
Such a peace is not for thee. 



Life is thine, and " life is earnest ;" 
Toil and grief thou canst not shun 

But be hopeful and believing, 
Till the prize of faith is won. 

Then the peace thou shalt inherit, 
By the Saviour promised free ; 

Peace, the world destroyeth never. 
Father, give that peace to me ! 



BRIGHTER YEARS. 

Come, cheer thee, love, for the shades of night 
Are fading fast in the early light ; 
The fresh wind wakes and the vapors fly, 
While the clouds disperse from the rosy sky ; 
And see, o'er the purple hills afar. 
The blessed beam of the morning star ! 
O, forget the night of thy pain and tears, 
And look to the dawn of brighter years ! 

Thou hast watched and wept, and thy cheek is pale, 
Thy lips are wan and thy footsteps fail ; 
And traces of tears and anguish lie. 
In the hollow depths of thy faded eye. 
O, how freely now would I yield my life, 
Could I bring back joy to my injured wife. 
There is One above who has marked thy tears, 
He will bless thee yet with brighter years. 

The bloom on thy cheek the rose defied, 
When I led thee forth a happy bride : 
Years, sad years, since that hour have flown, 
And the hue of health from its place is gone : 
12* 



13S BRIGHTER YEARS. 

It would ease my heart of a weary pain, 
Could I call the rose to thy cheek again ; 
Could I wipe away all thy bitter tears, 
With the cheering hope of brighter years. 

Thou wert young and gay when I won thy heart, 
Thou hast seen the joy of thy life depart ; 
Thou hast met reproach and neglect the while. 
And gave me back but an angel smile : 
Thou hast suffered want and many an ill, 
But thy heart is fond and forgiving still. 
Let us turn from the past w^ith its grief and tears, 
And look through the clouds to brighter years. 

Oh ! thy patient love has been to me, 
Like an island green in the wide, deep sea ; 
Like a cooling stream to the fevered taste ; 
Or the shady palm in a burning w^aste. 
1 have wandered long in a gloomy night. 
Where thy constant love was my only light : 
Let that light beam through thy silent tears ; 
Let thy heart still hope for brighter years. 

From the revel loud where the wine flows free, 
1 have turned again to my home and thee ; 
I have dashed from my lips the poison bowl, 
And prayed for help to redeem my soul ; 



BRIGHTER YEARS. 139 

I have mourned with my spirit bowed in dust, 
O'er thy wasted hopes and thy broken trust ; 
But I trembling look through repentant tears, 
To peace restored and to brighter years. 

O, ask of Heaven that the sinful one, 
Whose work of reform is but just begun, 
May conquer the foe and keep the faith. 
Through temptation strong, through pain and death. 
May he strive with the help of Heaven above, 
To reward thee yet for thy suffering love ; 
May he see thee smiling through blissful tears, 
And know thou art blest with brighter years. 



EVENING PRAYER. 

Father, we bow before thy throne, 

When night with shadows deep. 
Reminds us that thy watchful love 

Is needed while we sleep. 
If earthly cares attention claim, 

When low we bend the knee, 
O God ! forgive our wandering thoughts. 

And lead them back to thee. 



O, let a portion of thy grace. 

Descend our hearts to fill ; 
Teach us, whate'er our lot, to bow 

Submissive to thy will ; 
And if to sin's dark, thorny way. 

Our feet enticed should be. 
Father, forgive our wandering steps, 

And lead them back to thee. 



TO A MOURNER. 

"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall ba comforted.' 

Thou weepest for a sister ! in the bloom 

And spring-time of her years to Death a prey ; 
Shrouded from love by the remorseless tomb, 

Taken from all life's joys and griefs away. 
'Tis hard to part with one so sudden called, 

So young, so happy, and so dearly loved ; 
To see the arrow at our idol hurled, 

And vainly pray the shaft may be removed. 

Young, loving, and beloved ! oh, cruel Death ! 

Couldst thou not spare the treasure for a while ? 
There are worn hearts that wait to yield their breath. 

And aged eyes that can no longer smile. 
Why pass the weary pilgrims on their way. 

Bowed down with toil, and sighing for relief. 
To make the blossom in its pride thy prey. 

Whose joyous heart had never tasted grief ^ 

Weeper ! thou hast a treasure for thine eyes, 
In the fair semblance of the sainted dead ; 

See the sweet, smiling face before thee rise. 
From which the light of life so lately fled : 



142 TO A MOURNER. 

See the same bright expression beaming there ; 

The mild blue eyes and gentle features trace ; 
The lips so silent, and the soft brown hair 

Shading the pure brow with its parted grace. 

Sad sister, turn not hopelessly away ; 

Nor longer at the will of Heaven repine ; 
Fold not thy hands in agony and say 

" There is no sorrow in the w^orld like mine." 

0, could my numbers soothe thy sinking soul, 
Or one hope waken with the words I twine, 

Soft sounds of sympathy around should roll, 

Warm from a heart that knows such pain as thine ! 

1, too, have been a mourner. Sorrow deep 
Its lava-tide around niy pathway rolled ; 

And sable weeds a hue could never keep. 
Sad as the heart they hid beneath their fold. 

All joy grew dim before my tearful eye. 

Which but the shadow of the grave could see ; 

There was no brightness in the earth or sky, 
There was no sunshine in the world for me. 

O, bitter was the draught from sorrow's cup. 
And stern the anguish which my spirit wrung, 

When I was called to give my idol up. 

To bend a mourner o'er the loved and young. 



TO A MOURNER. 143 

And for the lost to weep is still my choice ; 

I ask for one whose pilgrimage is o'er, 
And vainly listen for a vanished voice, 

Whose pleasant tones shall greet my ear no more. 

There is a spell around my spirit cast : 

A shadow where the sunbeam smiled before : 
'T is grief, but all its bitterness is past ; 

'T is sorrow, but its murmurings are o'er. 
Within my soul, which to the storm was bowed, 

Now the white wing of peace is folded deep ; 
And I have found, I trust, behind the cloud. 

The blessing promised to the eyes that weep. 

So thou wilt find relief. For deepest woe 

A fount of healing in our pathway springs : 
Like Lethe's stream, that silver fountains flow 

A soothing draught unto the sufferer brings. 
A Father chastened thee ! O, look to him ! 

And his dear love in all thy trials see ; 
Look with the eye of faith through shadows dim. 

And he will send " the Comforter" to thee. 



POOL OF BETHESDA. 

The Saviour saw the summer sun o'er Cana's heights de- 
cline, 
Where at the marriag-e feast he turned the water into 

o 

wine ; 
And dark the shades of night came down upon the eastern 

sea, 
Which rolls its blue and sounding waves in ancient Galilee. 

On, to Jerusalem he came, nor paused the leagues to count, 
Through Bethany, and green Bethpage, over the Olive 

Mount ; 
And entering by the eastern gate his weary way he kept. 
To where Bethesda's healing pool beneath the sunlight 

slept. 

Around its brink, in sad array, affliction's sons were laid, 
On whom were poured the heavy ills no human power 

could aid ; 
There waited they, till o'er the wave an angel's wing 

should move, 
And he who first might wash therein its healing gift would 

prove. 



POOL OF BETHESDA. 145 

There was the blhid, whose life had been one scene of 

darkened hours, 
Who never saw the cheering sun, or the fresh-springing 

flowers ; 
Though voices sweet and bounding steps came round his 

pathway dim, 
No smile of love, or glance of joy, could give their light 

to him. 



There were the feeble and the maimed, the withered and 

the lame. 
Yet with a child-like trustfulness to the blue wave they 

came ; 
And Hope, whose star had almost set upon their clouded 

night. 
Now plumed her worn and weary wings, and waved her 

banner bright. 



Fair w^as the Sabbath morn which smiled upon the gath- 
ering throng ; 

But one was there, with sandal soiled by journey faint and 
long. 

Who could not pass the suffering by, or pity's meed re- 
fuse ; 

And round in idle wonder stood the unbelieving Jews. 

13 



146 POOL OF BETHESDA. 

In the green summer of his days more helpless that a child, 

Was one to whom the Saviom- turned with look and ac- 
cent mild. 

" Thou hast seen many saddened years of weariness and 
pain ; 

Wouldst thou rejoice in strength restored ? wouldst thou 
be whole again ?" 

" Would the wrecked mariner be glad a saving sail to see ? 
Or the bond-slave refuse the aid which bids him wander 

free ? 
But oh ! all vainly do I hope the healing wave to win, 
Ere I can move my helpless limbs another steps therein." 

"No longer shall a powerless frame, join with a soaring 

soul, 
To war against thy happiness ; arise, and be thou whole !" 
And many doubting eyes looked on, the wondrous cure to 

see. 
As forth amid the crowd he walked with step and action 

free. 

Trust we in Him ; unlike the Jews, who would not faith 
be taught. 

E'en by the many miracles the blessed Jesus wrought ; 

And come to him, with all our woes, who healing can im- 
part. 

E'en for the deepest, worst disease, the sicknes of the heart. 



THE PARENTS' LAMENT. 

"The shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain." — Young. 

Spring is abroad with gifts, the gentle spring ; 

Joy in her step and beauty on her brow ; 
Tokens of promise will her presence bring, 

The swelling flower-germ and the budding bough. 
Our bud of promise in the grave is sleeping, 

And the bright skies above their watch are keeping. 

Days pass, and brighter all the landscape grows ; 

The brow is fanned with pure and balmy air. 
Which all unseen upon its mission goes, 

Bearing a cloud of incense every where. 
Alas ! the fragrant winds are softly sighing. 
Where our sweet bud beneath the turf is lying. 

Around we gaze, our spirits bathed in gloom. 
On hill and vale with wondrous beauty rife ; 

The waving trees all sheeted o'er with bloom. 
While flowers of every hue awake to life. 

The blossom of our love spring cannot waken ; 

Our fair young flower, God to himself has taken. 



148 THE parents' lament. 

The hum of happy bees through ether floats. 
And birds from southern lands return again, 

With music gushing from their dulcet throats. 
And bright wings flashing o'er the floM^ery plain : 

The bird of joy for which our souls are yearning. 

Soars to a clime from whence there's no returning. 

Our fond and trusting hearts had never dreamed 
That death was near, and would so sudden bring 

The shroud and pall, for one who ever seemed, 
Fair as the day, and lovely as the spring. 

Early the treasure from our sight has vanished, 

Like summer dew before the sunbeams banished. 

Tears flow apace, tears that a record keep. 
Of pure lips rifled of life's fleeting breath ; 

Of gentle eyes weighed down with leaden sleep, 
And childhood's merry laughter hushed in death. 

Thrice have the darlings of our love been taken ; 

Thrice have we bowed to grief with faith unshaken. 

Though, one by one, our idols all depart. 

And where they smiled pale sorrow comes to dwell ; 

Yet can the oft tried and the trusting heart. 
Say with the Shunamite, '* yes, it is welW'^ 

This sweet assurance to our faith is given. 

Heaven claims its own when earthly ties are riven. 



MOONLIGHT. 



" My thoughts are with the absent - 
The beloved— the far away." 



I SIT and muse the hours away, 
Till night seems changed to noon, 

So brilliant smiles the scene around, 
Beneath the moon of June. 



The leaves hang silent on the trees, 
There is no voice or sound, 

For every bird that breathed a note. 
Its sheltered nest has found. 



The pearly dew with sparkling wreaths 
Bedecks each leaf and flower, 

And forms of light seem bending near. 
To bless this charmed hour. 



Upon yon bright, unruffled stream. 

The skies are pictured fair. 
And the sweet moon looks down to see 

Her image shining there. 

13* 



150 MOONLIGHT. 

And as beneath her silent spell, 
The waters upward roll, 

So does the tide of memory swell 
Within my restless soul. 



They come — the thoughts I tried to hush 

Like billows in their might, 
Till the " seventh wave" outspeeds them all, 

And shrouds my heart in night. 



Why wake ye thus, gentle moon ! 

Sad memories of the past ? 
Why do the eyes that look on thee, 

With tear-drops fill so fast t 



Thou hast a spell of tenderness 

Over this heart of mine ; 
The absent and the loved are bound 

With every ray of thine. 

Calista, in the " stilly night," 
My thoughts go forth to thee ; 

The moon which lit thy bridal hour, 
Is shining now on me. 



MOONLIGHT. 151 



But little has that fair orb changed, 
Since at the altar's side, 

I saw thee in thy beauty stand, 
A loved and happy bride. 



1 did not weep for thou wert blest 
And tears were not for thee ; 

I could not smile, for then I felt, 
How great my loss would be. 



I gave thee up, with one fond prayer. 
That all Ids promised love. 

Through many long and happy years, 
Changeless as mine might prove. 



We still are friends, but not the same. 
New hopes and ties are thine. 

While lonely and bereft remains. 
This wakeful heart of mine. 



I sigh to meet thy loving glance. 
Thy gentle voice to hear ; 

But sadly steal the hours away. 
Thou art no longer near. 



152 MOONLIGHT. 

While many a moon has come and waned, 

And many a year gone by, 
Short have our partings been ; but now 

Long miles between us lie. 



And when I saw thee last, sweet friend, 

A sad foreboding came, 
To chill my spirit with a fear 

We ne'er mio;ht meet a2;ain. 



For in the silent hours of night. 
Dark dreams have troubled me. 

Dreams of the coffin and the grave, 
But dearest, not for thee. 

No, bright thy future lot appears. 
Before my dreaming eye, 

And hope points out the many joys. 
Which round thy pathway lie. 



O, ever, may those visioned joys. 
On thee and thine attend ! 

I leave thee to the care of heaven. 
Mine own beloved friend ! 



MOONLIGHT. 153 

Pale moon ! what seest thou in the space 

Thy silvery light doth fill ? 
The songs of revelry are hushed, 

The viol's voice is still. 

Thou lookest on the waning lamj3, 

Which weary watchers trim, 
On cheeks where tears have left their trace, 

And eyes with sorrow dim. 

Yet all untroubled is thy smile ; 

No searching glance can trace 
A shadow from the ills of earth, 

Upon thy placid face. 

Would that thy light, serene and mild, 

With peace my soul might fill ; 
Would I could w^alk my path like thee, 

And bid my heart be still. 



''HOMEWARD BOUND." 

Welcome, bright and early morning, 
Thou art welcome to my heart. 

Though from dear, familiar faces. 
With the dawn I must depart. 



Farewell, friends ! the word is spoken. 

For the parting hour has come, 
And I go, with glad impatience, 

To my long forsaken home. 



Think not^ though a smile is stealing 
O'er the cheek with tear-drops wet, 

That I turn away with coldness, 
Or without one fond regret. 

Were this heart of mine laid open 
Where its cherished feelings dwell. 

With the sweet and sad emotions. 
All too deep for words to tell : 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 155 

Ye might see how much lies hidden 

'Neath a cahn untroubled brow ; 
Now a bounding thrill of pleasure, 

And a soul all saddened now. 



Grief and joy so oft are mingled, 
In the cup we drain below, 

That we taste till sweet from bitter, 
Joy from grief we hardly know. 



Fair the scenes my steps are leaving ; 

Scenes through which I loved to roam ; 
Long will memory retain them ; 

But there is " no place like home." 



Now we reach the glancing waters ; 

Now we leave the busy shore ; 
Hasten barque, and bear me onward ! 

Bear me to my home once more ! 



Swift we sail the blue waves over ; 

For the wind is fresh and fair ; 
But my thoughts outspeed the vessel. 

Home ! they are already there. 



156 HOMEWARD BOUND. 

There I see the dear loved dwelling, 

Where youth's golden hours have flown, 

And the smiling pleasant places. 
All from sunny childhood known. 



" Homeward bound !^^ 0, words of gladness ! 

Thrilling my impatient heart : 
Give me wings ! the wind is dying ; 

See how slow the waters part ! 



Once I loved to watch the sunbeams 
Dancing on the foamins; tide. 

And the shores and hills receding 
Till they crown the landscape wide. 



Now I have no eye for beauty ; 

Wave and shore no charm can show 
I can only count the moments, 

Count and chide them as they go. 



Chide them that they move so slowly. 
When I fain would have them fly ; 

Chide them that they idly linger. 
With the wished for haven nio-h. 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 157 

Hush, my heart, nor beat so wildly ! 

Thou canst patient wait I ween ; 
For our barque is hastening homeward, 

Though the waters roll between. 



Friends I leave, may Heaven's sweet blessings, 

Ever round your pathway come ; 
May the friends I seek be blessed, 

And thrice blest the " light of home." 



14 



CROWNING WITH ROSES. 

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they be withered." 

Wisdom of Solomon, 2 

Summer all her wealth is bringing, 

Countless flowers with fragrance rare, 
And the rose its sweets is flinging, 

Wide upon the morning air ; 
On them now the dew reposes, 

Glittering where the sunbeams play, 
Let us crown our brows with roses. 

Ere their freshness fades away. 

Round bright curls in beaut}'- wreathing. 

Seeming made to blossom there ; 
O'er young forms their fragrance breathing, 

What has earth so pure and fair ? 
But the rose a thorn discloses, 

And it only lives a day ; 
Youth too, like the summer roses. 

From us soon must pass away. 



Seek for wisdom, ere the brightness. 

And the dew of life are o'er ; 
Time will steal the young heart's lightness, 

But the mind retains its store. 
Ere the night around us closes. 

Ere our youth and strength decay. 
Let us crown our brows with roses, 

Which shall never fade away. 



ONE DEPARTED. 

''The beautiful is vanished, and returns not." 

Come hither, see how peacefully she lies, 

Though round her pillow many tears are shed ; 

Grief cannot chase the slumber from her eyes ; 
Come nearer, but step softly, she is dead ! 

O'er the pale sleeper let the dirge be sung, 

Mourn for the beautiful, the loved, the young ! 

So have we seen a white rose in its pride, 
With early blight upon its freshness laid, 

Or the pure lilly drooping by its side. 
For fairest flowers are ever first to fade ; 

And the fond heart soon learns this saddening truth, 

That the most loved die in the bloom of youth- 



No more, love, when fondly drawing nigh 
With soothing words her sadness to beguile, 

To spare thee pain will she suppress the sigh. 
Or turn to bless thee with a patient smile : 

Long, wasting hours of weariness and pain. 

To the sweet sufferer ne'er can come a^ain. 



160 ONE DEPARTED. 

Released from earth, and borne on angel wing, 

To a fair land from every sorrow free, 
Sweet, welcome strains shall sister seraphs sing, 

Soon shall the crystal gates unclose for thee : 
0, gentle spirit ! from thy heavenward track, 
Why should the heart desire to call thee back ? 

Blest are the early called, the youthful dead ; 

Deep love waits round them till life's peaceful close ; 
For them, the sigh is breathed, the tear is shed, 

And hallowed is the place of their repose ; 
There will affection often come to weep, 
And with undying faith their memory keep. 

Thou, whose fond eyes looked on her ripening bloom, 
And saw the spoiler steal the rose away ; 

Thou, whose sad heart is buried in her tomb. 
Fear not, an arm of love is still her stay : 

In the dark vale the sinless Saviour trod. 

Trust thy beloved to the arms of God. 

Yet weep, 'tis meet, when one so dear must die ; 

Weep for the bird w^hose joyous song is o'er ; 
Weep for the lilly that in dust shall lie ; 

Weep for the sunbeam that may shine no more. 
O'er the pale sleeper let the dirge be sung ; 
Mourn for the beautiful, the loved, the young ! 



MORNING. 

'T IS a fresh morn in spring-time ; and I stand 
Where a green summit, gently swelling high, 

Unfolds a lovely view on either hand, 
To charm the fancy and delight the eye : 
Above me bends the blue, unclouded sky ; 

Voices of music float upon the air ; 

Broad-sweeping vales, spread out beneath me, lie 

In the soft vernal sunshine, wondrous fair. 

With changeful light and shade alternate resting there. 



The gentle stream, meandering along, 

Kisses the verdant banks upon its way ; 
Singing, meanwhile, a low and rippling song 

To bending shrubs that with the eddies play. 

The hoary mist is floating slow away. 
To meet Aurora's fast advancing beams. 

Till the thick cloud that looked so cold and gray, 
A veil of silver gauze transparent gleams, 
And then a floating robe of vapory gold it seems 

The winds are viewless, and unknown their source ; 
The eye, however watchful, only sees 
14* 



162 MORNING. 

The sparkling waters dimple in their course, 

And the sweet flowers bowed to the wooing breeze ; 
A shower of blossoms from the laden trees, 

Like snow-flakes softly fall upon the ground. 
And the light pinions of the passing breeze 

Sweep over them, diffusing fragrance round, 

Grateful as spicy gales to voyagers ocean-bound. 

How gay the garden in its morning pride ; 

The blushing rose, its fair and favored queen, 
With a tiara crowned, and, by her side, 

Unfolding buds, bedropped with jewels sheen. 

Surely, some gladdening spell is in the scene ; 
The proud steed prances o'er the valley fair ; 

The lowing herd wend to their pastures green ; 
While all around me " swift wings fan the air," 
And life, and love, and joy, are smiling every where. 

Yes, 't is a joyous world ! — let praise go up 

To the high God from whom all blessings flow ; 

Whose bounteous hand unsparing fills the cup 
With draughts of happiness for all below : 
From the ephemera, who merely know 

A few brief hours of gladness, and no more. 
Sporting by myriads in the mid-day gloM', 

And vanishing ere eventide is o'er. 

To man endowed with mind his goodness to adore. 



DAY-DREAMING. 

How do the memories we love, 

Come like a fairy spell, 
When far away, the banished heart 

Will on home-tokens dwell. 



One smooth, bright curl of auburn hair, 
Doth round my finger twine, 

And then I see the fair brow where 
Its sister tresses shine. 



I muse — and in my waking dream. 
Swiftly sweet visions come ; 

And fancy leads me gently back 
To thee, mine own green home- 



The summer rose is blooming now. 
Throwing its fragrance wide ; 

Again I breathe the m.ountain air. 
And thou art by my side : 



164 DAT-DREAMING. 

Thou, whose dear presence from my thoughts 

Can every care beguile, 
With thy sweet words of innocence, 

And ever sunny smile. 



Once more those blue, mirth-loving eyes. 

Upon my pathway shine ; 
And as I view each well known spot. 

Thy bright glance follows mine. 



We stray in quiet converse where 
The sun-lit waters glance. 

Or read beneath the elm-tree's shade 
Some tale of old romance. 



I see thy heart's deep tenderness, 

Told in its mirror fair, 
As every thought the poet loves, 

Finds its own echo there. 



And when the twilight shadows fall, 

Forbidding far to roam, 
That voice of wave-like melody, 

Is singing " home, sweet home." 



DAY-DREAMING. 165 



gone 

Faded the vision fair ! 
My clasping fingers only hold 
The lock of satin hair. 



While others doat on gems of price, 

One treasured tress is mine ; 

And many a dear day-dream I owe 

To this bright curl of thine. 



THE FADED FLOWER. 

A FADED flower ! — say, memory, 

What does it bring to thee ? 
The bright and joyous sunlight, 

And glad streams leaping free ; 
The brilliant hues of summer ; 

The softly sighing breeze ; 
Bright birds with jeweled pinions, 

And leafy-laden trees. 



No, joy is smiling round me. 

And flowers are bending low, 
O'er streams that whisper sweetly 

To green banks where they flow. 
Still, summer, from my vision. 

Thy brightness doth depart ; 
Amid thy wealth of sunshine, 

'T is winter in my heart. 



Frail flower ! thy drooping petals 

Are dearer far to me. 
Than the fresh opening blossom. 

Whose fragrance lures the bee. 
They tell a tale of sadness. 

Of parting and regret ; 
Of hearts that suffered deeply. 

And cheeks with tear-drops wet. 



THE FADED FLOWER. 167 

The hand which trained thy beauty, 

No longer rests in mine ; 
The eye that watched thy blooming, 

On me no more may shine. 
Like thy bright hues soon faded, 

Our happiness was brief; 
A cloud came o'er the sunlight, 

And joy was changed to grief. 

Where art thou, friend beloved ? 

I ask the fragrant air ; 
The breeze sweeps on unheeding, 

And " echo answers, where ?" 
My life has lost its brightness. 

And time goes slowly by ; 
Sad is my heart, and lonely. 
Thou art no longer nigh. 



I hear a voice of music. 

Sweet as the wind-harp's lay ; 
Dear eyes are beaming on me. 

Which sadly turned away. 
And still these leaves I cherish. 

All withered though they be ; 
Affection's parting token. 

They breathe and speak of thee. 



ONE I LOVED IS IN THE GRAVE. 

Bright the summer sun is shining, 

Blue the sky and soft the breeze ; 
Flowers the garden walks are twining, 

Birds are warbling in the trees. 
But while joy is smiling round me, 

Naught from pain my heart can save ; 
Sadness with a spell has bound me, 

One I loved is in the grave. 

Cheerful looks and pleasant voices. 

Call me from my grief away ; 
Nothing now my heart rejoices. 

Vain each effort to be gay. 
Let me weep ! the tear is filling 

Eyes that smiles so often gave. 
For a pang my soul is thrilling, 

One I loved is in the grave. 



All things wear the garb of sorrow, 
For my heart is filled with gloom, 

And my thoughts their hue will borrow. 
From the shadow of the tomb. 



ONE I LOVED IS IN THE GRAVE. 169 

Mournfully the M^aves are singing, 

Dim the verdure which they lave ; 
Every sound a knell is ringing ; 

One I loved is in the grave. 



Sadly now the days I number, 

Dark and slow their passing seems ; 
Night but brings me troubled slumber, 

Restless hours and weary dreams. 
Death's dark wings my path are shading ; 

Sable plumes before me wave ; 
Phantoms from my gaze are fading ; 

One I loved is in the grave. 

Father, in distress I languish ! 

Heal the wound thy hand has made ; 
Thou canst see my silent anguish. 

Thou wilt pity, thou wilt aid ! 
Yes, a ray of light is beaming, 

From despair my soul to save ; 
Jesus, on thy bosom leaning. 

One I loved has left the grave. 

15 



SONG. 

Mary, the summer hours are swiftly flying, 
And my light barque is out upon the sea ; 

From the blue west the sunset's light is dying, 
As sad 1 turn to bid farewell to thee. 

Soon shall I be in other lands a rover ; 

Lady, my brief, bright dream of love is over. 

Hope pointed to a brilliant star before me ; 

Love filled my heart with a wild burning dream, 
And Poesy had wove her bright spell o'er me ; 

Thou, wert the star, the vision, and the theme. 
Soon shall I be in other climes a rover ; 
Lady, my short, sweet dream of love is over. 



The harp is mute which woke to thee its numbers, 
And hope's delusive star has darkly set ; 

Within my soul the tide of passion slumbers ; 
My task is now to wander and forget. 

Soon shall I be in other lands a rover ; 

Lady, my brief, bright dream of love is over. 



PHANTOMS. 

Life is but a changeful story, 

Of its end we little know ; 
All its years are but a moment, 

Shadow-like they come and go. 

Careless, thoughtless, of the future, 
To its dark revealings blind ; 

Phantoms we are ever chasing ; 
Phantoms of the eye or mind. 

Does the heart delight in beauty } 
Rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes ^ 

Ah, the form they are adorning, 
Is a spectre in disguise. 

All the pleasure we are seeking. 
All the charms we sigh to clasp, 

Are no sooner to us given. 

Than they perish in our grasp. 

Hope and joy we vainly follow. 
By their smiles deceiving led ; 

When at last we seem to reach them, 
Hope is gone, and joy is dead. 



172 PHANTOMS. 

Faith and love awhile deceive us ; 

But their trial is at hand ; 
Faith's fond promises are broken, 

Love is written in the sand. 

Shall we thus be mocked with shadows ? 

Beauty changing into dust ! 
Is there nothing real to bless us ? 

Nothing to reward our trust t 

Nothing here ! each dream shall vanish, 
Like the wave from off the shore, 

Which, borne onward to the ocean. 
Laves the same green spot no more. 

But when life's short day is ended, 
And our phantom race is o'er. 

We shall taste and see the blessings. 
Which were but a shade before. 

Beauty will be made immortal ; 

Time shall nothing more destroy ; 
While beside us dwell forever, 

Faith, and hope, and love, and joy. 



AUTUMN. 

Now the pale spirit of decay- 
Walks forth among the fragrant flowers. 

The hills grow brown, and summer gives 
Place to the saddening Autumn hours. 



Instead of many a warbler's strain, 
Is heard, the fading groves among. 

The rustle of the falling leaves. 
The cricket's sad and solemn song. 



Pale grows the sunlight in the vales ; 

While deepening shadows dim the sky, 
And the blue hills, in misty shroud, 

Hide their shorn glories from the eye. 



The passing of the summer days, 
The wreck of all her pride I mourn ; 

Her roses trailing in the dust. 

Her brightness and her beauty gone. 

15* 



1 74 A U T U M N . 

Still, summer, I could bid farewell 
To thee, and keep a cheerful heart, 

If with thy sunshine and thy flowers, 
No other blessings might depart. 



But, season fair, amid thy bloom. 

Death with his arrows walks abroad, 

Taking dear treasures from the earth, 
To the bright gardens of our God. 



And graves are made in verdant vales. 
Which of thy sunlight share a part, 

And green are kept by saddest tears, 
Gushing like life-drops from the heart. 



From all the glory of the scene, 
Afi'ection veils her tearful face, 

And asks for those whose vanished smiles 
Made sunshine in the darkest place. 



And often when the brightest skies 
Look down upon the fairest flowers ; 

When life and beauty, love and hope, 
Circle and crown the fleetina: hours : 



AUTUMN. 



175 



My sad eyes fill with sudden tears, 
From light and joy I turn away, 

The shadow of some coming ill, 

Seems darkening round me day by day. 



Two summer suns have come and waned, 
Calling the blossoms into birth, 

Since death first snapped the golden chain, 
Which bound my love to things of earth. 



And still the influence of that hour. 

Comes with the season's ripened bloom, 

Like a dark night-cloud o'er the stars. 
Folding my spirit in its gloom. 

With palms pressed o'er my aching eyes, 
I shun the golden glare of day. 

Till the sweet voices of the past. 
Beguile me from my grief away. 



Again a grave has summer made ; 

From home and loved ones far apart ; 
To take the young, the early called, 

Who shared a place within my heart. 



176 AUTUMN. 

Sweetly thou sleepest far away ; 

Thy place of rest I may not see ; 
But in the waning summer time, 

My thoughts will often turn to thee. 



Father, bless thou the suffering hearts 
Who lay their hope within the grave ; 

From doubt, from darkness and despair, 
Oh, let thy love be strong to save ! 



The smiling season of the year. 

When winter's chilling storms are o'er, 

Shall come again with light and bloom ; 
But those we mourn return no more. 



In the sweet summer's sunny days. 
No longer may they share a part ; 

But then their graves shall greener be. 
And fresh their memory in the heart. 



THE MAGICIAN. 

*' I remember reading, long ago, an eastern story of a Dervise, who had a 
mystic ointment with which, when the eyes were touched, all the hidden, pre- 
cious things of earth were given to view. The gold and silver shone within the 
mountain, and the diamonds glistened in the secret mines ; so it is with Love? 
who is the fine magician, showing all the veiled treasures of the heart," 

In eastern lands was a Dervise old, 
Who could all the treasures of earth unfold ; 
He touched the eyes with an ointment rare, 
And the precious things of the mine lay bare. 



The ruby its light to his vision gave, 
And the diamond flashed in the secret cave ; 
There the jet and the jasper-stone were seen, 
With the yellow amber and emerald green. 

And why should the Dervise note, or care, 
Though the rocks were rough and the mountains bare ? 
Enough for him to see, and know, 
That countless treasures lay hid below. 

He walked the earth with footsteps light. 
For his path was paved with silver bright. 
And beneath the stones, moss-grown and old, 
He beheld rich piles of gleaming gold. 



17S THE MAGICIAN. 

Where others looked on the barren earth, 
Which scarce to a shrub or flower gave birth, 
He smiled to see all the precious gems. 
Which glitter in princely diadems. 



And thus he dwelt in a vision bright, 
Rejoicing aye in his charmed sight, 
And the power which could at will impart. 
The hidden things in the earth's deep heart. 



And so when Love, the magician fine, 
Shall touch the heart with his wand divine, 
For him unfolds a treasured store 
Of precious things that were veiled before. 

And though cold the outward mein may be. 
Yet his eye a fire withia can see ; 
And there to his piercing gaze are brought. 
The gems of fancy and pearls of thought. 



He bathes the eyes with a magic light, 
Till the darkest scenes of life grow bright ; 
And the way seems free from toil and pain. 
For the rough is smooth and the doubtful plain. 



THE MAGICIAN. 179 

He tunes the " harp of a thousand strings," 
And sweeter music abroad it flings ; 
And the soul is steeped in blissful dreams, 
Till the trying world an Eden seems. 



Oh, powerful Love ! he wins by stealth. 
The human heart with its priceless wealth ; 
He enters the veil around it cast, 
And with silken fetters binds it fast. 



IN LIFE'S YOUNG MORN. 



' O that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest. 

Psalm Iv : 6. 



In life's young morn, when all is fair to view, 

And cloudless skies our onward pathway cheer ; 
In those soft depths of over-arching blue. 

We see no coming storm, and feel no fear ; 
And when our barque is on a tranquil sea. 

Which seems to promise sunny days of rest, 
No wandering wish across the soul will flee. 

To leave a scene so peaceful and so blest. 

But many an hour of weariness and care. 

Children of earth, must here our portion be, 
When, like a bird shut out from sun and air. 

The soaring spirit struggles to be free ; 
When with an eagle faith we fix our gaze. 

On yonder heaven, the home of spirits blest. 
And like the pious bard of ancient days. 

Long for a refuge in the realms of rest. 

If all our dearest hopes are early crossed, 
And the cold world looks idly on our grief j 



IN life's young morn. 181 

If those are false in whom we trusted most. 



And even friendship fails to give relief; 
Then, when a blight comes over all we love, 

And sorrow's weight is heavy on the breast, 
Fain would we take the pinions of the dove, 

To soar away from earth and be at rest. 

A bitter draught is mingled in our cup, 

When prayers and tears are poured in vain to save, 
And the heart's treasures must be yielded up, 

To shroud, and pall, and darkness of the grave : 
When the freed spirit mounts to realms above, 

Where grief and pain may never more molest, 
Upon the wafting pinions of the dove, 

Fain would we follow to a land of rest. 



Vainly we hope for happiness below, 

But heaven-eyed Faith points to a fairer shore, 
Where the worn heart no bitterness can know. 

And the sad eyes shall fill with tears no more. 
The clouds and storms which gather round our way, 

Are sent by One who knoweth what is best, 
To win us from, a weary world away, 

To that far better land where all is rest. 



16 



TO CALISTA. 



" If, until this, no lay of mine, 
Hath been to thee devoted, 

It is not that such love as thine, 
Has idly passed unnoted." 



I TAKE my harp, and wake the silent strings 
To one whose name I ne'er have sung before ; 

But worthless is the music which it brings, 
It shadows forth my inmost soul no more : 

I bid it pour its sweetest melody, 

But still the strains are all unworthy thee. 

How shall I sing thy praise ? can numbers tell 
All that thy friendship dear has been to me ? 

Or paint the hours which deep in memory dwell, 
Bright hours, that passed in happiness with thee ? 

Vainly, with willing hand I touch the chords, 
My warm emotions will not flow in words. 

Thou knowest all my moods ; thy kindly heart 
Can sympathize in every changing dream. 

Which to my spirit doth its hue impart, 
Leaving a sunny, or a troubled gleam ; 

And when, in sorrow's hour, I turn to thee. 

Thy words are sweet to cheer and comfort me. 



TO CALISTA. 183 

Within the depths of thy soft, heaven-blue eyes, 
I read the feehngs which respond to mine ; 

If I am sad, a cloud will o'er them rise. 

If I am gay, with answering smiles they shine ; 

And ever when their brightness beams on me, 

The light of sweet affection there I see. 

Thou lovest well the Muse ; thy gentle eye 
Looks on the fair scenes that before thee smile. 

And kindles with the fire of poesy 

That plays around thy sweet-toned lute the while, 

Which gives to virtue and to truth the strain, 

Seeking the lost and wandering to regain. 

Thy song is not for fame ; thy woman's heart 
Could ne'er be satisfied with sounding praise, 

Nor wouldst thou in the pageantry take part. 
Where proud ambition doth her altar raise. 

The tones of one loved voice would sweeter be, 

Affection's smile is dearer far to thee. 



Our love dates not from childhood's sunny hours. 
Or the bright scenes which early youth endears \ 

But still we walk among life's fading flowers, 
With the tried friendship of maturer years ; 

No idle word our hearts can e'er estrange ; 

The love we cherish time shall never change. 



184 TO CALISTA. 

The world's temptations will beset our way, 

And clouds may gather round us, dark and wild, 

Still let us seek in virtue's path to stay. 
And strive to keep our spirits undefiled. 

VVhate'er the fortune of my life shall be, 
I pray that Heaven may ever smile on thee. 



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